October sucked me dry. It's usually my favorite month of the year. And this year, it left me feeling hollow. Disconnected. Tired.
After my last post, Mark left a really cool comment:
In life there are times what we are doing is not working and we should give up the fight temporarily and regroup to try again.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend celebrated her 40th birthday. She and her husband rented the most spectacular beach house I have ever entered. When I arrived on Friday evening, I had just driven back into town after spending the day at a writer's conference two hours away. I was running on four hours sleep. The group was at a nearby restaurant watching the sunset, and I was alone. Music played softly in the background, accompanying the photo montage—scenes from decades of life and friendship—on the big screen TV.
I needed to freshen up before I walked over to the bar, and I had to pump breast milk. Too much information, I'm sure. But there it is. I felt rushed, wanting to hurry and get myself together so I could meet everyone before the sun went down. Instead, I told myself to stop. Breathe. My friends weren't going anywhere.
The sun was setting. And the setting sun doesn't wait. It moves slowly, steadily out of sight.
I walked out to the back porch and plunked down in a rocking chair. I felt my brain, my chest, my emotions—everything that had been so tightly constricted—release. Expand.
This morning I held my coffee cup and looked out my kitchen window. I noticed how nice it is to have a window above the sink. I don't want to live a life of not noticing.
It's difficult to pick up where I left off. And yet, I'm here. Digging around for words. It's time to return to the well. To fill up. To breathe.