Happy Thanksgiving.
This is the first year for as long as I remember that I haven't done any cooking for the big feast. I made a few breakfast items this morning but have mostly spent the day hanging out. It almost doesn't feel like Thanksgiving because I am not standing in the kitchen, my back aching, my head hurting and my feet screaming. I also won't be seeing my son today; he is working until 6pm and then going to his fiance's house for dinner. Joe and Melia and I are going to the home of our friends Mike and Celia where Mike is preparing a fabulous meal.
Realistically speaking, even if I wanted to, I couldn't possibly host or serve a traditional feast. I have been working so much that my body is protesting loudly in a variety of uncomfortable ways. I don't have the energy to cook and clean and tend to anyone's needs. Heck, I'm having a difficult time tending to my own needs. I'm not eating right or exercising enough. I feel overwhelmed daily.
But my mood is good.
I like my jobs. I love teaching. I still like running the Writing Center, but it is burning me out. I can see the wall slowly making its way toward me. I am destined to hit it and when that happens I will be forced to move on. I'm hoping that when that happens I can move onto teaching and writing full-time. I have an interview next week with another community college. So in addition to the class prep and grading I planned to do this weekend for my classes, and the formatting job I need to finish, and the family finances I have to address, and a Thanksgiving to participate in, I'm prepping for the interview.
Still, not really complaining. But I am looking forward to the end of the semester. I'm very likely going to move into a new office space. It is really long past time for me to move my freelance and creative work out of my house. I think I have decided on a location, but am still dealing with details. I'd like to be mostly moved in before Christmas, which is a week after the semester ends. Yes, I know, even when I have a break scheduled I still manage to overload myself.
One of the many things that I have learned this last few months is that I can do more work than I had thought I could. I have also been reminded just how important taking care of my body is. I physically feel pretty crappy a good portion of the time, but I know how to feel better and once I have the time I will be changing my eating and exercise habits back to what they were only a few months ago. It also reminds me that there were several years when I felt like this ALL the time. I have also been reminded that I have the power to change that, and for that knowledge I am very grateful.
I am grateful that I have trusted my own instincts and am moving forward in my chosen career(s). I am grateful that months ago Joe and I had a talk about the changes that are now taking place and we are managing to stay connected and happy together. I am grateful that my kids are great. I am grateful for my friends and extended family (even if I don't have the time or energy to spend much quality time with them).
Yep, lots to be grateful for. And lost of exhaustion that I will be grateful to be rid of in a few short weeks.
Lake Mendocino
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
A New Castle in the Sky
I'm normally a fence sitter when it comes to politics.
I don't mean to say that I don't have an opinion, but my deep respect for the equally deep feelings of others requires me to keep my attitudes in check lest I fall into an all out confrontation that will serve no purpose save to piss me off, piss my friend/neighbor/fellow party goer off, and end what may likely be a relaxed social gathering. I don't believe that I can sway anyone's strong opinions with my anger or righteousness. I do believe, however, that by keeping an open mind and understanding as to why a stance is different from my own, I have an increased opportunity to share my views in an intellectual way, in a more subtle get under-your-skin kind of way. That sublty and respect for other's opinions is my personal tool for bringing about change in my little world. And yes, it has at time worked.
But goddamn if I didn't bawl my eyes out when it became clear that Barack Obama is going to be the next president of the United States of America. And frankly I don't much care who knows how I feel. I'm not attacking anyone's choices. I'm not dancing the I-told-you-so dance. I am simply enjoying the feeling of imminent change. The feeling of hope for the future of our country on levels that I can barely begin to express. I cried on election night because I am so proud of my country. I am proud that my fellow citizens were willing to take a chance on change. That sounds like such a simple concept, but really it isn't.
Change for most of us is a terrifying experience. A change in job, a change in location, or a change in relationship, all offer new hope and new ideas that mask that black abyss that is the unknown. No matter how sure we are that change is the best thing, it still holds within it things we cannot readily see. And we remain blind to so much for so long, to so much unpredictability, sometimes too much, that even within hope and happiness our terror lurks. This terror could so easily have been too overwhelming for so many people across the nation. It could have tied their hands and their minds down, tethering them, and the rest of us, to a known quantity–the status quo–no matter how much of the real terror was sitting squarely in the light of our everyday lives. Like the abused spouse who remains because the outside world is unknown and unreliable in its actions with no guarantees that change will be better, too often they remain, staying in a place that is safe if only in its familiarity.
I have a copy of the front page of the local newspaper that is entirely filled with the profile of President-Elect Obama. There is another displayed from another newspaper on the office door of a colleague . Both cause me to pause, to hold my hand to my chest over my heart and feel a sense of wonder and pride and hope. He looks eerily familiar: A young man with a young family ready to take on the mantle of one of the most powerful countries in the world. He is wearing a dark suit and white shirt with a solid color tie. He is slender and smiling. I look at it and wonder, does my generation finally have the chance for the kind of hope that hasn't been seen since before I was born? Are we, forty years later, finally ready to give a new future another chance? Has cynicism taken a long enouh vacation for us to try something new that is such a strong echo of the past?
That is certainly my hope.
I pray that it does. I also pray that the hope continues farther than the last. I pray that the new stars that are rising in politics rise far beyond their predecessors and live well into the next generation. I pray that the new castle in the sky we are building in our hearts binds with the foundation of our nation and sustains new hope and change for many, many years.
I don't mean to say that I don't have an opinion, but my deep respect for the equally deep feelings of others requires me to keep my attitudes in check lest I fall into an all out confrontation that will serve no purpose save to piss me off, piss my friend/neighbor/fellow party goer off, and end what may likely be a relaxed social gathering. I don't believe that I can sway anyone's strong opinions with my anger or righteousness. I do believe, however, that by keeping an open mind and understanding as to why a stance is different from my own, I have an increased opportunity to share my views in an intellectual way, in a more subtle get under-your-skin kind of way. That sublty and respect for other's opinions is my personal tool for bringing about change in my little world. And yes, it has at time worked.
But goddamn if I didn't bawl my eyes out when it became clear that Barack Obama is going to be the next president of the United States of America. And frankly I don't much care who knows how I feel. I'm not attacking anyone's choices. I'm not dancing the I-told-you-so dance. I am simply enjoying the feeling of imminent change. The feeling of hope for the future of our country on levels that I can barely begin to express. I cried on election night because I am so proud of my country. I am proud that my fellow citizens were willing to take a chance on change. That sounds like such a simple concept, but really it isn't.
Change for most of us is a terrifying experience. A change in job, a change in location, or a change in relationship, all offer new hope and new ideas that mask that black abyss that is the unknown. No matter how sure we are that change is the best thing, it still holds within it things we cannot readily see. And we remain blind to so much for so long, to so much unpredictability, sometimes too much, that even within hope and happiness our terror lurks. This terror could so easily have been too overwhelming for so many people across the nation. It could have tied their hands and their minds down, tethering them, and the rest of us, to a known quantity–the status quo–no matter how much of the real terror was sitting squarely in the light of our everyday lives. Like the abused spouse who remains because the outside world is unknown and unreliable in its actions with no guarantees that change will be better, too often they remain, staying in a place that is safe if only in its familiarity.
I have a copy of the front page of the local newspaper that is entirely filled with the profile of President-Elect Obama. There is another displayed from another newspaper on the office door of a colleague . Both cause me to pause, to hold my hand to my chest over my heart and feel a sense of wonder and pride and hope. He looks eerily familiar: A young man with a young family ready to take on the mantle of one of the most powerful countries in the world. He is wearing a dark suit and white shirt with a solid color tie. He is slender and smiling. I look at it and wonder, does my generation finally have the chance for the kind of hope that hasn't been seen since before I was born? Are we, forty years later, finally ready to give a new future another chance? Has cynicism taken a long enouh vacation for us to try something new that is such a strong echo of the past?
That is certainly my hope.
I pray that it does. I also pray that the hope continues farther than the last. I pray that the new stars that are rising in politics rise far beyond their predecessors and live well into the next generation. I pray that the new castle in the sky we are building in our hearts binds with the foundation of our nation and sustains new hope and change for many, many years.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Gratitude & Sorrow
It's been one year since we lost our first grand-baby.
He lived inside his mother for almost 5 months before higher powers decided that it was time for him to move on. His mother and father were both devastated. Before they knew that he existed they had chosen to be apart, to move away from a relationship that had become increasingly dysfunctional. They didn't have to recommit to each other once they knew that they were pregnant; they could have lived apart and parented separately the way many parents do. My son refused to live away from his child. His girlfriend refused to live away from her child. So together they chose to repair a relationship that they had already walked away from. They chose to move back in together. They chose to work hard in couples therapy so that when their baby was born he would not be born into chaos, anger and fighting.
In their therapy session, a whole new world opened up for them: a world of honest, open and clear communication. They worked hard every week for months, and the work was evident to those of us who watched from the outside as they grew and matured.
When they lost their baby, they named him Rowan and layed a special brick for him to commemorate his existence.
And they stayed together. And they grieved together. The loss of Rowan helped them, as if even in death, even after he had moved onto another place and another existence, he continued to impact their lives for the better.
Last weekend these two young people who came so close to being apart, and becoming parents too young made a new promise to each other. Vince proposed, Alexis accepted and they are now planning their life together. They are talking about where they want to live, where they want to raise the children they will have sometime in the future. They are planning for their marriage. It is clear that the wedding is secondary, and that the life is the priority. All because of Rowan.
Vince gave Alexis my grandmother's ring. The ring had been stripped of its diamonds many years ago; so Vince and I found a jeweler who could repair the damage and rebuild the ring for a new generation. We filled the holes with heirloom diamonds. It is now more beautiful than it ever was.
The jeweler liked the ring that I was wearing, the one that my husband had sculpted for me. She wanted to see more of his work. We brought her photos of his jewelry and sculpture, and one wire tree. She ordered six rings and 5 wire trees. So now my talented husband the artist is creating art. He was destined to do this, but because we walked into that particular jewelry store on that particular day, his destiny has become manifest.
He would not be sculpting if we hadn't walked into the jewelry store. We wouldn't have walked into the jewelry store if Vince didn't want to marry Alexis. Vince wouldn't be marrying Alexis if they hadn't work so hard to make their relationship work. They wouldn't have worked so hard to make their relationship work if they hadn't gotten pregnant.
Our lives have been impacted in incredible ways all because of the mere existence of our first grand-baby. His life was so important and so profound that he didn't need to live for a full five months inside of his mother in order to create a ripple affect that continues on. I am so grateful that we had him in our lives, even for the all too short time he was here. I am so sad that I never had a chance to hold him in my arms.
I am so grateful that I can hold him in my heart and see the gifts that he left us.
He lived inside his mother for almost 5 months before higher powers decided that it was time for him to move on. His mother and father were both devastated. Before they knew that he existed they had chosen to be apart, to move away from a relationship that had become increasingly dysfunctional. They didn't have to recommit to each other once they knew that they were pregnant; they could have lived apart and parented separately the way many parents do. My son refused to live away from his child. His girlfriend refused to live away from her child. So together they chose to repair a relationship that they had already walked away from. They chose to move back in together. They chose to work hard in couples therapy so that when their baby was born he would not be born into chaos, anger and fighting.
In their therapy session, a whole new world opened up for them: a world of honest, open and clear communication. They worked hard every week for months, and the work was evident to those of us who watched from the outside as they grew and matured.
When they lost their baby, they named him Rowan and layed a special brick for him to commemorate his existence.
And they stayed together. And they grieved together. The loss of Rowan helped them, as if even in death, even after he had moved onto another place and another existence, he continued to impact their lives for the better.
Last weekend these two young people who came so close to being apart, and becoming parents too young made a new promise to each other. Vince proposed, Alexis accepted and they are now planning their life together. They are talking about where they want to live, where they want to raise the children they will have sometime in the future. They are planning for their marriage. It is clear that the wedding is secondary, and that the life is the priority. All because of Rowan.
Vince gave Alexis my grandmother's ring. The ring had been stripped of its diamonds many years ago; so Vince and I found a jeweler who could repair the damage and rebuild the ring for a new generation. We filled the holes with heirloom diamonds. It is now more beautiful than it ever was.
The jeweler liked the ring that I was wearing, the one that my husband had sculpted for me. She wanted to see more of his work. We brought her photos of his jewelry and sculpture, and one wire tree. She ordered six rings and 5 wire trees. So now my talented husband the artist is creating art. He was destined to do this, but because we walked into that particular jewelry store on that particular day, his destiny has become manifest.
He would not be sculpting if we hadn't walked into the jewelry store. We wouldn't have walked into the jewelry store if Vince didn't want to marry Alexis. Vince wouldn't be marrying Alexis if they hadn't work so hard to make their relationship work. They wouldn't have worked so hard to make their relationship work if they hadn't gotten pregnant.
Our lives have been impacted in incredible ways all because of the mere existence of our first grand-baby. His life was so important and so profound that he didn't need to live for a full five months inside of his mother in order to create a ripple affect that continues on. I am so grateful that we had him in our lives, even for the all too short time he was here. I am so sad that I never had a chance to hold him in my arms.
I am so grateful that I can hold him in my heart and see the gifts that he left us.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Carol Burnett & Friends & Gram
I have great difficulty accessing memories of my grandmother. I don't mean to say that I can't remember her, that isn't exactly it. Every hour, every minute, every second of every day of my life I can think of her and access a memory to share. I tell a lot of stories to my kids and friends that involve Gram. I haven't forgotten her; I can't. The problem is that when I want to write about her I suddenly freeze up and forget how we were when we bantered, how she made me laugh, how she made everyone around her laugh. How she made me feel safe wrapped in her arms. I can only get so far, and then the memories seem to drop out of sight as if they are hiding.
My standard excuse is that she is so much a part of who I am that I find it impossible to tease her out of my memories so they can stand alone in my writing. I don't now for sure if that is true or not, but it will work for now.
But if in any given moment watching TV, of all things, I catch a glimpse of Carol Burnett, the Saturday evenings of my life come flooding back. The memories are so strong that I can't seem to sit through a 30 second clip on the Emmy Awards without beginning to bawl.
Every Saturday night at 10:00 we would sit our respective seats, me on the couch Gram in her chair under her lamp, her cigarette smoke curling up into the lamp as it made its way toward to ceiling to hover above us. We watched with anticipation as Ms. Burnett walked out onto the stage in her designer dress for her opening monologue. At some point in her monologue, if memory serves, she would tell the audience who designed her dress. I have forgotten every single designer save for Bob Mackie. We got to know his designs so well that we could spot them on the Red Carpet at the Emmy and Oscar Awards. (The most outrageous outfits that Cher wore were almost always a Mackie design.)
We loved the skits that Carol, her regulars and her guest stars would act out for us. We loved the end of the show when she would sing her signature song:
I'm so glad we had this time together
Just to have a laugh or sing a song
Seems we just got started and before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'So long.'
Then she would tug at her ear lobe and wave and walk off stage.
At some point she explained the ear tugging. She was raised primarily by her grandmother. At the end of every show, the tug as a "secret" signal to that beloved grandmother. My goodness, I can't read or write about it without stifling the sobs that jettison up my throat. My eyes tear up and I want to sit and cry and cry because I miss Gram. I have to stop writing because–well because I can't see the damn keyboard.
*sniff*
So, do I have a point? Yes I do, in an abstract sort of way. My point is that I want to honor someone who was, and is, so important to me. I want to honor her in my writing, but I am still struggling to find a way to do that, to find a way to access the memories without accessing the tears. She touched a lot of people, so maybe the way to retrieve those memories locked inside of me is to ask some of those other folks to share what they remember about her.
Maybe.
My standard excuse is that she is so much a part of who I am that I find it impossible to tease her out of my memories so they can stand alone in my writing. I don't now for sure if that is true or not, but it will work for now.
But if in any given moment watching TV, of all things, I catch a glimpse of Carol Burnett, the Saturday evenings of my life come flooding back. The memories are so strong that I can't seem to sit through a 30 second clip on the Emmy Awards without beginning to bawl.
Every Saturday night at 10:00 we would sit our respective seats, me on the couch Gram in her chair under her lamp, her cigarette smoke curling up into the lamp as it made its way toward to ceiling to hover above us. We watched with anticipation as Ms. Burnett walked out onto the stage in her designer dress for her opening monologue. At some point in her monologue, if memory serves, she would tell the audience who designed her dress. I have forgotten every single designer save for Bob Mackie. We got to know his designs so well that we could spot them on the Red Carpet at the Emmy and Oscar Awards. (The most outrageous outfits that Cher wore were almost always a Mackie design.)
We loved the skits that Carol, her regulars and her guest stars would act out for us. We loved the end of the show when she would sing her signature song:
I'm so glad we had this time together
Just to have a laugh or sing a song
Seems we just got started and before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, 'So long.'
Then she would tug at her ear lobe and wave and walk off stage.
At some point she explained the ear tugging. She was raised primarily by her grandmother. At the end of every show, the tug as a "secret" signal to that beloved grandmother. My goodness, I can't read or write about it without stifling the sobs that jettison up my throat. My eyes tear up and I want to sit and cry and cry because I miss Gram. I have to stop writing because–well because I can't see the damn keyboard.
*sniff*
So, do I have a point? Yes I do, in an abstract sort of way. My point is that I want to honor someone who was, and is, so important to me. I want to honor her in my writing, but I am still struggling to find a way to do that, to find a way to access the memories without accessing the tears. She touched a lot of people, so maybe the way to retrieve those memories locked inside of me is to ask some of those other folks to share what they remember about her.
Maybe.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Now the Work Really Begins
Yes. I'm in.
The signature came through (not without a few hassles of course). I will be teaching not one, but two college courses beginning next week. Suddenly I have to put two syllabi together, plan 15 weeks of class meetings for both classes, fill out a stack of paperwork for HR*, get my fingerprints taken and a TB test done and buy a parking permit. All before Tuesday. Today is Friday.
This is an emergency hire situation. I believe that everyone involved understands that some things won't be done before Tuesday. The four books for one class are ordered and three of them are already in the bookstore. The three books for the second class are ordered and will be in the bookstore next week. Oh, I forgot to mention that one class is on the Santa Rosa campus where I currently run the writing center. The other is in the evening in Petaluma where I live. Yeah, I'll be a very busy little bee until mid-December. I am not complaining. But for a couple of days I wasn't sleeping well at all. My brain would not turn off.
I am very excited. This week I was able to sit down and work with a few students in the writing center, which is simply my favorite part of the job. It felt so good to interact with them and their writing. Staying where I am feels like the right place to be. That may change. When or if it does the change will be okay and I'll move on.
For now, it is so very nice to feel good about being where I am.
*The stack of HR paperwork says that it must all be completed and returned no later than 5 days before I begin work. The paperwork came to me yesterday, so according to the directions I should have had it back to them yesterday afternoon. Yeah right.
The signature came through (not without a few hassles of course). I will be teaching not one, but two college courses beginning next week. Suddenly I have to put two syllabi together, plan 15 weeks of class meetings for both classes, fill out a stack of paperwork for HR*, get my fingerprints taken and a TB test done and buy a parking permit. All before Tuesday. Today is Friday.
This is an emergency hire situation. I believe that everyone involved understands that some things won't be done before Tuesday. The four books for one class are ordered and three of them are already in the bookstore. The three books for the second class are ordered and will be in the bookstore next week. Oh, I forgot to mention that one class is on the Santa Rosa campus where I currently run the writing center. The other is in the evening in Petaluma where I live. Yeah, I'll be a very busy little bee until mid-December. I am not complaining. But for a couple of days I wasn't sleeping well at all. My brain would not turn off.
I am very excited. This week I was able to sit down and work with a few students in the writing center, which is simply my favorite part of the job. It felt so good to interact with them and their writing. Staying where I am feels like the right place to be. That may change. When or if it does the change will be okay and I'll move on.
For now, it is so very nice to feel good about being where I am.
*The stack of HR paperwork says that it must all be completed and returned no later than 5 days before I begin work. The paperwork came to me yesterday, so according to the directions I should have had it back to them yesterday afternoon. Yeah right.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Anticipation
Waiting.
I feel like I have spent a great deal of my life waiting.
I'm not talking about waiting in line, I don't often have the patience for that, I'm talking about waiting for things in life to happen.
I spent way too many years waiting for my parents to come get me. And chunks of time waiting for boys to call. And years waiting for my hubby to stop napping and help take care of things around the house.
There are sometimes when waiting is easy because I turn off my brain and space out. This skill is reminiscent of childhood and sleeping during long car rides to make the time go by faster. I go into a self imposed waking sleep mode when waiting for doctor's appointments or for time in a day to pass before a special date.
I feel like I've been waiting for my professional life to start since I finished graduate school. Initially there were very legitimate obstacles in my way, like dying parents and grief. And in all honesty, things have been moving, albeit very slowly, in the right direction.
This weekend I am waiting for one more signature on one piece of paper that will allow my department to hire me so that I can teach a college course. In theory, the signature is a formality, almost certainly to happen with little or no struggle. Nice theory, but I have been through disappointment at this job and know better than to assume all will work out as planned. I tried very hard not to get high on excitement, I know better. But it's hard and my brain simply won't stop planning classroom assignments and activities. It is impossible to space out or go into a waking sleep mode because I have other things to do. Consequently I can't turn my brain off.
In the meantime, the anticipation is killing me. And it's exhausting. Will I know on Monday? Tuesday? Good God, I hope so.
I feel like I have spent a great deal of my life waiting.
I'm not talking about waiting in line, I don't often have the patience for that, I'm talking about waiting for things in life to happen.
I spent way too many years waiting for my parents to come get me. And chunks of time waiting for boys to call. And years waiting for my hubby to stop napping and help take care of things around the house.
There are sometimes when waiting is easy because I turn off my brain and space out. This skill is reminiscent of childhood and sleeping during long car rides to make the time go by faster. I go into a self imposed waking sleep mode when waiting for doctor's appointments or for time in a day to pass before a special date.
I feel like I've been waiting for my professional life to start since I finished graduate school. Initially there were very legitimate obstacles in my way, like dying parents and grief. And in all honesty, things have been moving, albeit very slowly, in the right direction.
This weekend I am waiting for one more signature on one piece of paper that will allow my department to hire me so that I can teach a college course. In theory, the signature is a formality, almost certainly to happen with little or no struggle. Nice theory, but I have been through disappointment at this job and know better than to assume all will work out as planned. I tried very hard not to get high on excitement, I know better. But it's hard and my brain simply won't stop planning classroom assignments and activities. It is impossible to space out or go into a waking sleep mode because I have other things to do. Consequently I can't turn my brain off.
In the meantime, the anticipation is killing me. And it's exhausting. Will I know on Monday? Tuesday? Good God, I hope so.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
That's The Thing About Vacation
It's re-energizing.
I wish now that we had planned our vacation earlier in the summer. Last year, for so many reasons, we ran–sprinted–out of town in mid-August to escape the death and destruction that was plaguing us. This year we very civily looked at the calendar and chose dates according to what seemed to work around the rest of our life.
My goals for this summer break (I am not scheduled to work from the end of May thru til about mid-August) were to write creatively and work on marketing myself as a freelancer. In hindsight I realize that I didn't really schedule time to relax or feel. This was a foolish plan because I knew intellectually that I wasn't able to deal with all of my emotions and grief from last summer's losses last summer and would likely have a difficult summer emotionally. (I just can't seem to give myself a break!)
I was off work over spring break and accomplished a lot, and it felt really good. I assumed, erroneously it turns out, that with more time off over the summer I would accomplish that much more. But I felt un-inspired, un-productive, unhappy. Everything felt a bit heavier. Thoughts that would normally flit through my brain instead stayed much longer than necessary and swirled around and around creating a tornado of air and nonsense. On the outside everything slowed down to an excruciatingly slow pace. Movement was more difficult, and I began to feel discouraged about working out, writing, cleaning, working, most things.
I really started to wonder if I needed to change anti-depressants. All too familiar feelings of my lack of worthiness as a writer, co-provider and life partner began to mount. I found myself excited about less and less of the activities in my life. Even packing for Sea Ranch wasn't a big thrill. It was helpful to wrap my mind around the organization aspect of meal planning and shopping, but when asked if I was excited about going on vacation I could honestly that no, I wasn't.
Maybe it is as simple as getting away from the day-to-day, from the familiar, because getting away felt so good. Breathing in the sea air felt restorative. It was as if the air that flowed into my lungs had special molecules of renewal attached to them. The stars above had the nicest things to say amidst their twinkling. Being alone with my favorite people outside of the day-to-day routines at home and work was just lovely. We could just be, or laugh, or talk, or enjoy a movie or music together. Sitting on a bluff or the beach watching the waves crash against the rocks, it is easy to get lost in the waves, they have their own soothing rhythm that pulls my mind away and it goes wandering off without a care, traipsing lightly over the foam and the sand, weaving in and out of the clouds, happy to be.
While we were there I started a new essay, blogged almost regularly, and began to reassess my work area at home. It was clearly time for a change, which I have since made. I moved my desk downstairs and out of the bedroom. I feel a bit exposed down here, but for now I think that is the point, not to be holed up in a corner feeling inadequate.
Now that we are home the heaviness is gone. I am working out regularly again, I am looking forward to going back to work. I updated my website and added some lovely testimonials from past clients. I am mulling the kind of ad copy I need to write to expand the freelance side of my writing and editing. And I'm still blogging!
Thanks to a week away, I feel recharged. That's the thing about vacation…
I wish now that we had planned our vacation earlier in the summer. Last year, for so many reasons, we ran–sprinted–out of town in mid-August to escape the death and destruction that was plaguing us. This year we very civily looked at the calendar and chose dates according to what seemed to work around the rest of our life.
My goals for this summer break (I am not scheduled to work from the end of May thru til about mid-August) were to write creatively and work on marketing myself as a freelancer. In hindsight I realize that I didn't really schedule time to relax or feel. This was a foolish plan because I knew intellectually that I wasn't able to deal with all of my emotions and grief from last summer's losses last summer and would likely have a difficult summer emotionally. (I just can't seem to give myself a break!)
I was off work over spring break and accomplished a lot, and it felt really good. I assumed, erroneously it turns out, that with more time off over the summer I would accomplish that much more. But I felt un-inspired, un-productive, unhappy. Everything felt a bit heavier. Thoughts that would normally flit through my brain instead stayed much longer than necessary and swirled around and around creating a tornado of air and nonsense. On the outside everything slowed down to an excruciatingly slow pace. Movement was more difficult, and I began to feel discouraged about working out, writing, cleaning, working, most things.
I really started to wonder if I needed to change anti-depressants. All too familiar feelings of my lack of worthiness as a writer, co-provider and life partner began to mount. I found myself excited about less and less of the activities in my life. Even packing for Sea Ranch wasn't a big thrill. It was helpful to wrap my mind around the organization aspect of meal planning and shopping, but when asked if I was excited about going on vacation I could honestly that no, I wasn't.
Maybe it is as simple as getting away from the day-to-day, from the familiar, because getting away felt so good. Breathing in the sea air felt restorative. It was as if the air that flowed into my lungs had special molecules of renewal attached to them. The stars above had the nicest things to say amidst their twinkling. Being alone with my favorite people outside of the day-to-day routines at home and work was just lovely. We could just be, or laugh, or talk, or enjoy a movie or music together. Sitting on a bluff or the beach watching the waves crash against the rocks, it is easy to get lost in the waves, they have their own soothing rhythm that pulls my mind away and it goes wandering off without a care, traipsing lightly over the foam and the sand, weaving in and out of the clouds, happy to be.
While we were there I started a new essay, blogged almost regularly, and began to reassess my work area at home. It was clearly time for a change, which I have since made. I moved my desk downstairs and out of the bedroom. I feel a bit exposed down here, but for now I think that is the point, not to be holed up in a corner feeling inadequate.
Now that we are home the heaviness is gone. I am working out regularly again, I am looking forward to going back to work. I updated my website and added some lovely testimonials from past clients. I am mulling the kind of ad copy I need to write to expand the freelance side of my writing and editing. And I'm still blogging!
Thanks to a week away, I feel recharged. That's the thing about vacation…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)