Writing can consume you.
Even when you are not actually writing, you are preparing for writing by seeking the topic for which you might write about today. Knowing you have to put a post out there each day adds that pinch of added pressure to pick something good, something worthwhile, something that others really care to even read. I mean, do you really want to read about how my coffee maker overflowed? Or all about the zipper that broke on my favorite pair of jeans? How about the fact that my dog is dragging old deer bones to the front door step now that the snow has melted? Yes, these daily happenings could take me to deep, underlying themes of angst, aging and rebirth if I decide to go with some of these topics, but frankly, I just don’t want to go there. Ugh. Blah. Meh – my daughter calls it.
It was time to step away for a bit.
I skipped two days of the 30 Day Slice of Life Challenge.
“This is okay,” I kept repeating to my “Bernice” brain.
I needed a little break. Not from writing – but from writing for an audience. Not everything we write is for the public eye. Thank God. Even though I had some content from my days that I could have crafted into a post, my inner writing angel, Gabby, nudged me away from the keyboard this weekend to travel with my husband to his swim meet five hours away. Yes – to restock the well. Prime the pump. Collect new fodder.
Oh, how I love collecting fodder.
The collecting part of writing is where my pure bliss happens. The not knowing what I will do with a noticing – or if it will grow into anything at all is not the concern. All I am doing is collecting. There is an inner joy when there is a shift into a “presentness” mode of being, a living wide awake. Arrival at this place, fills me with peace and contentment, the heart opens and expands as reminders of how connected we are to everyone and everything saturates every moment.
~the sweet coffee shop lady of Mexican decent (I think), a beautiful smile that lights up the shop, her voice like music. I felt her healing morning blessings as she crafted my decaf dark-as-you-can-make-it latte with almond milk and a shot of hazelnut syrup.
“Can you do that?” I asked.
“Of course,” she comforted me, “It’s an art, you know”.
Can you fall in love with your coffee making lady? Umm. . . yes.
I left the coffee shop, my hands surrounding the warmth and love in a cup that was created for me. Yes, I can feel that. It’s a big deal.
~the college age boys slumped back in their stools at the restaurant bar, beers waiting for them to sip on, their attention – each of them, on their phones, few words spoken between any of them. Yeah, I felt that, too.
~the waitress who swayed us away from the house soup. “It has been sitting in the pot too long,” she warned us. Again. Felt it.
~my husband’s college buddies who show up to swim with him. My husband is 52. These boys shift to 22 year olds. It’s pretty hard not to feel that.
My notebook filled faster than I could keep up.
My husband became annoyed at my wonderings. “You’ll have to google that,” became his response to anything he really didn’t have an interest in investigating with me. That’s ok. It was my own senses on high alert. His focus on driving or to get his swimming mindset on. There’s no way he could keep up to me on my fodder collecting days. A child, I am. He’s lucky I do most of my wondering in my head.
The most miraculous thing happens when you tell yourself you are only “collecting” and not going to write.
You can not help but be driven to write.
It’s a little trick I play on myself.
I love it when I fall for it.
So, I’m out of being eligible for any prizes in the March 30 Day Slice of Life Challenge. I’m okay with that. I had to go with the ebb and flow of my own writing self.
And, my well is restocked.