Yesterday was the half-way mark of my sabbatical. I’m incredibly and, rather unexpectedly, sad about that, to the extent that I made SK watch a ton of Call the Midwife on Netflix over the weekend just so I had good reason to cry off and on. It’s going too fast, I haven’t finished enough of what I wanted to accomplish yet, and I feel like I’m sliding toward the end before I’m ready. I spent some time in the dark the other night, unable to sleep, thinking about why. I thought about just journaling it (to keep it private), but since I have this lucky opportunity to remove myself from the American corporate race for a year, it seems worth commenting on the shitty parts, too.
My therapist keeps trying to remind me that the point of this time off isn’t to “make it” as a writer. It’s not really possible: this year is just the kickoff for my authoring career, because publishing is a notoriously slow business. I expect to have to go back to business analysis next spring. But this time is supposed to be a grace period to figure out what my process looks like, whether I can self-motivate for creative and non-creative pieces of the business, and perhaps most importantly to adjust to this new reality I’m in. To rest. To figure out what the hell I actually want, and how I want my life to be. Tricky stuff to take time to ask yourself about while living in a country that values production and the hustle over everything else, and rest is viewed as a moral failing.
Post-cancer life, newly married and stepmom life, out-of-shape life, burnt out at work life: all of these are changes so many people face. I had a series of circumstances you could call luck (or the universe aligning or divine intervention or what have you) that resulted in an opportunity I know most people don’t have. So I put a ridiculous amount of pressure on myself to get things done, to not “waste” it. But what does “wasting” your time really mean? Is it a waste to read a book or watch Netflix for a day or two? To shut yourself off? To sleep in a little some days, or rest in the hammock in the afternoon (now that it isn’t a zillion degrees outside)? In Star Wars: A New Hope, there is a point where C-3P0 asks Luke if he can shut down for a while to run maintenance cycles. Why is it so damn hard to accept my own maintenance cycles?
I have no good ending for this post, simply because I’m not out of the mood yet. I’m not quite ready, but it’ll pass. This is not intended to be a “poor me” thing, just sharing a bit of the yuck right along with the good. The lifelong Midwestern work ethic self-talk condemning failure is extra-strong today. So I’m watching a documentary about Alexander the Great and writing a blog post and futzing with a fellowship application (an extreme long shot, but isn’t everything worthwhile a series of long shots and attempts?) due tomorrow. Little steps are still steps. Today is a little step day.
No Pithy Phrase 