Water, Water, Everywhere
Writer’s block, Friends, which is strange, because I’m surrounded by an ocean of experience, yet the words trickle out, haphazardly. Not even a stream, more like a leak, and never on command. Every day I am out there living, feeling, seeing and learning and wondering. I do my best to capture it, but the thoughts and pictures seem stuck in my head, lost in translation (if you will), and I just don’t know where to begin.
I bought a notebook, just for writing. I wrote some notes in it, thinking that I’d untangle the random bumps jolts of inspiration later, but so far the threads have been impossible to untangle, unmanageable.
Fragmented, really, is probably the best word for it. And that is very much how I feel. I feel all over the place–in my head, and in my planning, and in my work life.
I want to tell you about all of the things, to show you all of the pictures and tell their stories, and my story.
Also, I want to not feel so overwhelmed by daily life and mundane decisions that instead of going to Japanese class or doing one of the (too?) many things on my to-do list I cry in bed, listening to and ignoring a guided meditation, which tells me to sit upright and relaxed, but instead I am face-down, holding tight to my comfort pillow, back slightly arched against the decorative bedding. I fall asleep, almost as a last resort.
But I was calmer when I woke up.
* * *
I didn’t do much today, Friends.
Rather: Today, I went for a walk. Because the parameters of life are slippery quicksilver and ever-changing, and walking is straightforward, one foot in front of the other.
I did not make any grand plans, nor hold fast to any epiphanies. I walked, marveling at the strangeness of my own step, admiring the light, the water, the colors, and the air. A breeze against my skin, like newness, like the release of my weighted fears and the breath of new life.
I walked until I reached the sea.