Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Oh, the irony
So I'm sitting here at my beautiful desk in my lovely little partitioned office next to my bright big window. And you'd think I'd be in heaven.
And I sort of am.
Except it feels like hell.
I haven't been here very often. I think about this space all the time, though. I think the word is yearning.
This space is quiet and light and all set up exactly how I like it. And the way I leave it is exactly the way it will be when I return.
And, most critically, it is a place just for me to write.
But when I get here, it's like I'm sitting on hot coals.
Invariably, I have an hour, maybe two. I have a massive To Do list. I crank up my laptop and suddenly have no idea where to start. Answer emails? Make more lists? Write some letters? Pen a quick blog post? Tee up Reverb posts? Tinker with my website?
And the biggest question screams the loudest: what do I write? What do I write? WHAT DO I WRITE?
I get here and I seem to forget what my priorities are. Then I get all afraid that I have this space all set up for nothing. I worry that I'm deluded about how organised I am (which is actually very organised: I am usually an extremely organised person). I start to worry I'll never get anything done and then the world will know what a fraud I am… even worse, a fraud who has spent a fair bit of money on a space she is not using properly. What if I can't do this? I start to hear my heart beating in my ears and my vision blurs a little. I feel like I am moving in slow motion.
And all this takes up a good deal of time.
I really like the card that you see in the foreground of the [badly framed, hastily taken] picture above. I think that, once again, The Little Sage, is right on the money.
I am not really in control of anything. I have time and I have energy and I am only going to use it in a way that makes me happy (and somewhat productive) if I let go and breathe. And just do what I can.
I know that this is only the beginning of the journey. My baby boy is starting to spent a little time on his own with his respective grandmothers. I am starting to understand what might be required of me as I embark on this next phase of my work as a writer. AND it's a crazy busy time of year.
I know I will have more time… soon.
We all need space to grow into this.
I have five more minutes before I have to race to the grocery store, go home and feed bambino, collect my daughter from school. This will give me just enough time to finish my cup of tea, write a couple of things down before I forget them, meditate on what it might mean to be set free.
And lean in to the understanding that this is enough.