I hesitate to say that I struggle from writer’s block, as I find it difficult to define myself as a “writer” (although what I actually am is undefined also). Putting pen to paper, aka fingertip to keyboard, is much more difficult than I envision at times. Like right now. Like the past month. Like trying to force words just creates an even greater hurdle – one more thing on the to-do list, another hour blocked out in the calendar. How do I spit some words of meaning out when my brain is fuddled, my eyes are exhausted, and my body just wants to rest?
At the moment, I can put it down to a change in life pace, a rustling of my life’s feathers. For me, this change is a good thing (a great thing even). I’m just in the process of finding my footing and regaining my bearing. So the words may take a little longer to conjure and the thoughts may be a little more fuzzed for a time. While this frustrates me to no end, the ebbs and flows of every season just have to be taken in my stride.
So today, after preparing a batch of slow-cooked dahl (the kind of food my heart needs to re-energise and refresh) and some fresh kombucha brew, I need to step away from the to-do list for a while – my equal best friend and worst enemy. Instead of forcing something, checking a box, I’ll sit outside. Enjoy a coffee in the sun. Read a book. And if nothing happens, that’s ok. In fact, maybe that’s amazing; a lesson to myself that being still is just fine. The washing can wait until tomorrow, as can the cleanup of clothes strewn across my bed. This Sunday is the Sunday of zen.
(Image via Catalogue Magazine)