Fifteen Days of May

 Lightning forced us to take a break from work, and watch the storm from the window. It felt so pleasant to sit together as a family.

Lightning forced us to take a break from work, and watch the storm from the window. It felt so pleasant to sit together as a family.

Occasionally, I wonder, "What exactly is it that I am doing?" If in depressive existential crisis, I might continue, "What's the point?" Or, if I am feeling a bit saltier, "What's up with this crap?" I might ask, "Who is driving this car anyway? Me? Or, someone else? Something else?"

Yeah well, I asked myself these questions last night. I started writing on a nearly daily basis on January 20th of this year. I started with a thirty day challenge to get going and then kept going.

Then, late April happened. Then, fifteen days of May. An eight week mindfulness class (finished this week) with homework (that I enjoyed), plus a weekly martial arts class (that I love, as you know), plus, you know, life (which I also love deeply despite writing regularly about life's troubles).

With the clatter and clutter of spring, a nursery owner's busiest season, writing dropped off. I felt uncomfortable with that. With few other options, I forgave myself.

Writing (possibly any vocation, except ones involving ever-changing modern technology) is like riding a bike. If you've flexed the muscle enough, it comes back. Wobbly at first, but then the speed and agility returns.

Sometimes, I have taken breaks from martial arts and felt conflicted about that, too. Chastising thoughts about a lack dedication, concerns about forgetting. The reality that a few weeks off, or more, means a week of pain and soreness after starting back up.

And yet, time away from practice, any practice... upon my return, I notice simple and profound reasons for past struggles. Ah ha! Sometimes they melt away once noticed. Other times those flaws require consistent work, but without that noticing, I'd have taken those flaws to the grave.

Yesterday's writing felt wobbly. I asked myself, "What am I doing this for? This reminds me of putting up my photographs in a gallery and feeling nothing. Or, feeling motivated by external forces with no hope of feeling content."

Today, I am pedaling faster. Today, I think, "Why not? This is enjoyable."

I have a friend who has written daily since 2015. Instead of thinking, "I wish I had done that", I think, "I've enjoyed everything I have read that he's written. Looking forward to reading more. And, I am enjoying writing this right now."

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