Seasons

This morning I woke up to the sounds of my wind chime. Sometimes the sounds are delicate and distant, like a bird you can barely hear. Sometimes the sounds are overpowering, almost aggressive in the wind. Today they were just right. 

I went outside with Willow, feet bare and coffee cup in hand, trying to wake myself for the day and all that has to be done to be ready for tomorrow. It seems that my life is a lot of that right now. Doing what needs to be done for today and thinking about what needs to be done for tomorrow. I feel like a forest surrounded by tiny fires. Most of the time they are in check, small and in control. Not even threatening. 

But sometimes, as life has been known to do, individual fires, instigated by the wind or fuel from some other source, grow larger. I feel a little bit like I’m playing whack-a-mole right now. Life is busy. It always is, but I’m feeling that especially during this season. The one fire that seems to be most patient is my writing life. 

I have always written in spurts and sprints. Honestly, my writing life has been a bit like my running life. It never stops. But my resilience changes with the seasons. I’m spending most of my writing time right now journaling. I’ve been working on a few academic pieces that may or may not turn into something. My novels are on the back burner for now, waiting for me I hope. 

Not long ago, I would have berated myself for not being committed enough, not carving out time enough, not telling my brain, my anxieties, and my worries to be quiet so that I could write. I don’t know if it is part of getting older. If experience has taught me to trust that the writing is still there for me, will be waiting for me because it has been time and time again. It could also be that a mellow-er version of myself has emerged over the last few years. I’m leaning into the discomfort, trying to give myself grace in the same way that I give it to those around me. I’m trying desperately to not just teach my children but to really model for them what a healthy balance in life might look like. 

My writing, my stories, my words will still be there. They aren’t going anywhere. The universe sees me, sees my life, knows me. For the next couple of weeks, I will lead with grace. And when some of the other fires begin to quiet, I will pick up my stories where I left them. I will write with as much focus as I can manage. 

And when other fires need more attention, I will travel from fire to fire, living in the best way I know how. With grace. And with belief in seasons. Nothing is permanent.