Life after vacation does not exist. It is the void that you step into when you think there are no more stairs. There you are, falling into nothingness and there is no semblance of a floor that will not jar your joints into oblivion.
When you go on vacation, they always talk of the anticipation, the planning, the execution, the joy of returning to your own home and bed, and even the "jet lag" you may get even without switching time zones. What they fail to warn you of is the lack of motivation lasting for weeks afterward. The inability to comprehend not just falling back into your routine, but falling back into your life as it exists.
Who knew depression existed on the other side of fun?
When I returned that first night, I was so excited to get back into writing. And then the next day happened. I came home, and plodded through my evening, sat down to rest and relax, to eliminate the need to "do" anything. And did just that.
Eliminated doing anything. For days. Weeks. I existed. I slept, ate a little, worked, came home, existed, slept, ate a little, worked... and that was who I was.
Even my children seemed to fall into the routine of nothingness. Today, after missing my alarm because of all of our contagious nothingness, I arrived to work an hour and a half late and we all finally decided that this nothingness was dangerous. So we did something today. We did something this evening. We cleaned or cooked or even did a few crafts. And now, now I want to write.
It's been welling up inside of me. And once again, I find myself here, painting on a canvas that is no longer blank because I dared to splash it with color. I love this part.
Friday, June 29, 2018
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Snickerdoodles and Summer Journals
My mind is always racing with all I need to do to get from A to B. It reels and rams itself over and over into more and more to-dos and lists and whats and whys. I often cause more anxiety than there actually is because I am so afraid to miss something that is seemingly important but in the vastness of life, is nothing of note.
Right now my mind is sifting from one moment to the next, preparing for a summer vacation that is on our horizon. My list of items to accomplish grows longer by the second and more intimidating than facing a firing squad.
Writing is a way to slow all of it down. To stop it all, leave life hanging in midair, and move into a realm where anxiety does not exist for me. There are times when anxiety in my writing comes out. When I think of timelines of how long it will take to do something, or when I want to set my "deadline" and I cannot make it. That is when I realize that I am squeezing out the creation and inspiration, and inflate my writing with superfluity. It's all hot air.
And when it is filled with hot air, it is time to let it go: let it rise up and away into the sky while you watch from below. And when it is hidden in the clouds shaped like Donald Duck or a rhino in a bath, you turn your attention back to what it has always been meant to be. Your sanity, your worlds, your dreams and hopes. And lay out the story once more and continue onward.
If only I could apply this to my actual life. Now there is an idea.
Right now my mind is sifting from one moment to the next, preparing for a summer vacation that is on our horizon. My list of items to accomplish grows longer by the second and more intimidating than facing a firing squad.
Writing is a way to slow all of it down. To stop it all, leave life hanging in midair, and move into a realm where anxiety does not exist for me. There are times when anxiety in my writing comes out. When I think of timelines of how long it will take to do something, or when I want to set my "deadline" and I cannot make it. That is when I realize that I am squeezing out the creation and inspiration, and inflate my writing with superfluity. It's all hot air.
And when it is filled with hot air, it is time to let it go: let it rise up and away into the sky while you watch from below. And when it is hidden in the clouds shaped like Donald Duck or a rhino in a bath, you turn your attention back to what it has always been meant to be. Your sanity, your worlds, your dreams and hopes. And lay out the story once more and continue onward.
If only I could apply this to my actual life. Now there is an idea.
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Post-School Year Races
Making it to the end of a school year with children feels much like trying to run a marathon with kids strapped to your back, front, and lagging behind you in a wagon while you carry all necessary school supplies. Somewhere along the line, you wonder if all this crap is worth it. And you begin to wonder why in the world everything has to be left to the end: the recitals, the awards ceremonies, the events in which everyone MUST be there.
This chaos did little to allow me the freedom to express myself. Instead, I was up late cramming for spelling tests, washing laundry for much needed said events, making dinner, planning for Summer fun, and on and on. This didn't even involve the normal life that inevitably occurs between all this.
When exactly am I supposed to find time to write? Oh, that's right. Somewhere in between the hours of never and ever. And this pulls me off the rails.
At least my runs aren't for nothing, that is, when I can get them in. My brain just fills with my world and off I go. Why have they not invented a DragonSpeak bluetooth for runners that downloads automatically to a phone? Not that I could afford it anyhow, but it's sure fun to dream.
And now, a few days after it has all finally washed over us: the end of another school year, I sit peacefully at the foot of my sleeping children and write. What bliss I feel as my hands stream across the keyboard and fill a white space with words.
Words not of pure imagination, but words to charge the spirit and warm the blood. That is the spark and the page is the kindling. Off I go to warm myself by the fire inside.
This chaos did little to allow me the freedom to express myself. Instead, I was up late cramming for spelling tests, washing laundry for much needed said events, making dinner, planning for Summer fun, and on and on. This didn't even involve the normal life that inevitably occurs between all this.
When exactly am I supposed to find time to write? Oh, that's right. Somewhere in between the hours of never and ever. And this pulls me off the rails.
At least my runs aren't for nothing, that is, when I can get them in. My brain just fills with my world and off I go. Why have they not invented a DragonSpeak bluetooth for runners that downloads automatically to a phone? Not that I could afford it anyhow, but it's sure fun to dream.
And now, a few days after it has all finally washed over us: the end of another school year, I sit peacefully at the foot of my sleeping children and write. What bliss I feel as my hands stream across the keyboard and fill a white space with words.
Words not of pure imagination, but words to charge the spirit and warm the blood. That is the spark and the page is the kindling. Off I go to warm myself by the fire inside.
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