Tuesday, October 15, 2013
All the things I didn't really want to write about
So a week of not blogging. Hmmm... I think we can safely consider that a Blogtoberfest fail.
The truth is, my words have largely deserted me of late. Today was the first time in... actually, I can't remember how long... that I sat down with a pot of tea, a lighted candle and my journal and just scribbled. My handwriting may be dodgy but the words tumbled out, perfectly formed, as if they had been waiting for me confidently, all this time.
The same can't quite be said for my fingers and the keyboard right now.
I certainly have a list of all the things I don't really want to write about. Like, how I'm still feeling pretty washed out at nineteen weeks. Like, how everything feels like quite an effort, particularly showing up to my day job. Like, realising that one of the major differences between this pregnancy and the last one is how desperately unfit I've become and how much harder that is making everything. Like, how I've been grieving the end of a significant relationship and the strange and arbitrary distance of some others. Like, how I've been wondering where my sass went.
But then again, there's lots of really great stuff happening. Like crisp morning sunshine after days and days of rain. Like hooking up with my girl Rachael Maddox for her brilliant Do It Meaningfully challenge. Like Halloween coming soon. Like ten hour sleeps. Like great mail days. Like signing up to receive delicious wisdom from the closet of soul sister Max Daniels. Like Spring. Like cooking up a massive batch of my brilliant bolognese. Like walking in the sunshine as my little 'un glides ahead on her scooter, stopping periodically to give me a thumbs up. Like discovering Lisa Lister. Like making quiet but brave plans for the next two years. Like signs that the time is right. Like stepping boldly into The Desire Map, knowing that it's time to start the program in earnest. Like knowing that for the first time in my life (and on the cusp of turning forty) I finally feel like I am grown up. Like the possibility I may even paint my nails with sparkles this evening.
But where to start?
I love the way my friend Kylie Bellard, faced with a similar dilemma, decided to "underachieve her way in". That's me, here right now.
And for a sure-fire anti-perfectionist manoeuvre, it somehow feels perfect.