Wednesday, January 13, 2016

On and Off it Blinks

Hello. It's me. As I sit in the stillness of the house, no words form. Like a blank canvas, it begs me to fill the pages with words; my thoughts. Over and over the cursor, flashes on and a silent reminder that no typing is occurring. On and off it blinks. Yet, no fancy words, stories or pictures...just the raw realness of nothingness.

Where do I start? 
Where have I been? 
What do I want to focus on?

I find myself asking these questions with this new gift of time. Even as I sit and type these words, my my mind wonders about the answers to these questions.

On and off it blinks.

Having worked in an exempt role for several years, I knew I needed to step back, reconnect, recharge, refuel. And now after years of fighting a ridiculous pace...I'm almost at a lost. 10-20 hours a week newly discovered and I am uncertain what to do; where to start. 

The struggle is real. 

On and off it blinks. 

I suppose if this was during the deep of gardening season, I would not find myself in the place. But in a sense, I'm rediscovering me. I've cleaned the house, recovered the dining room chairs, enjoyed tea with friends, read a book, shopped for groceries, and organized 'the junk pile' to name a few. All in my back of my mind longing to start writing again. Nagging me, begging me. But where do I begin; what do I share? 

On and off it blinks.

How do I say I'm not sure what this new "normal" looks like? Or how do I share that I'm refocusing on what matters - my family, sharing life, working in my garden and God. I'm not sure. And then I wonder if it is the stillness that makes me ask these questions. Was my pace before so hurried, so rushed that I didn't think about me? Could I not quiet my heart to let God speak? 

On and off it blinks. 

I am finding less is more. So many things to share, to type; but still at this moment I'm watching the cursor continue to blink on and off. On and off it blinks. Like a calls to me giving me confidence to type the new word. 

I sit and stare at the blinking cursor in the stillness of my living room, Tomorrow, I hope will begin more words, stories and pictures. Tomorrow. But tonight, I cling to this idea of my 'new normal' and continue to watch the cursor.

On and off it blinks.

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