I looked at the clock a few minutes ago. 9:40pm. I expected it to read something much later...10:40pm, 11:00pm. I was surprised that I still had some time.
'Still had some time.' Seems like my constant heartache is the lack of time. Where does it go? I regularly find myself bemoaning the passing of the hours, the days, with my dreams undone and screaming at me from the notebooks and computer screens in my house.
The saddest part of all is that the only reason I 'still had some time' this evening is because I was home today, sick, and only took on the absolutely necessary activities for the day. Stayed in bed til 10:00am, did a few small things around the house, took my oldest to the orthodontist and made supper. Those were my grand movements of the day.
And it felt really, really good.
I found myself wishing all my days were as easy as today. I've taken purposeful steps to reduce the intensity of my schedule, yet it fills up continuously. To the point that I'm sick, again - the third time in as many months. Is my body telling me something?
I have some specific goals for this new year. And I have a feeling that 2017 will go by with them largely unaccomplished if I don't create space for them. I don't want to have to spend half my year sick in order to slow down. There are too many words to write, songs to sing, beauty to take in, and conversations to have to spend it wondering where the time went.
Fewer screens in my face, more face to face conversations. Fewer 'likes', more enjoyment. Slowing down the days to take in the moments, the people, the words, the soundtrack of the hours. Making presence the purpose, that's my goal. Ingesting love and learning. Making food and friends. Words and wonder.
For now, I'm going to bed, because that's where sick little me needs to be. Not producing, not cleaning, not unpacking one more box. So that's where it begins. By being where I need to be.