Today, I am delirously happy. So happy that I really don’t even want to say anything. Lest I jinx it.
And when I’m happiest is in the morning. Something I never used to say. Except maybe on vacations.
Instead of rushing around getting ready, I leisurely drift from thing to thing in my robe. Oh, I need to toss those towels in the washer. Oh, I should finish putting on my makeup. Wait, did I actually start the washer?
Ah, time to let my hair air dry and take my time picking out an outfit no one but the dogs will see. I’m sure this will get old, but… I don’t know when that will be.
I try to scrub out the guilt from my brain, thinking about those hardworking moms who don’t have the luxury of taking some time off, who work multiple jobs with unflexible hours. If I’m thankful every day, maybe that will be enough to ease the guilt, to keep this gig going. Don’t want to jinx it.
I vacillate from day to day about whether things are going great and I’m doing the right thing to thinking this could all end up an exercise in futility. Really? Writing a book? Does anyone read any more? I’m swapping one dying medium for another.
I give myself permission. It’s OK to not be super productive. It’s OK to take a break, or seven, to online window shop. It’s OK to just write for the sake of writing and think of it as an exercise.
It feels good to take a break. Too good. What if I dial it back so much that I can’t ever ramp it up again?
Gulp.
What if…. I can’t jumpstart my writing? What if it’s not as good? What if I can’t get unstuck? What if…
And, that was the end of that.
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