I start this song-birdy Sunday off unlike any other day in recent memory. Out of bed at 7:00 am (I usually wake up at 4:45 during the week and reserve weekends to lounge around in bed until 8 or 9), not coffee but tea, making several weekend plans for March, April, May and June (unheard of in the past four years), and thinking about the work I will do in the small garden plot I am installing at work.
My mind doesn’t quite know how to wrap itself around the fact that I am not planning, worrying, plotting and thinking about the farm that is no longer in my care. I checked a non-farmy book out from the library a month and a half ago and never opened it before I returned it over-due. I still plan on attempting to read a work of fiction, however I have already started reading a book about growing winter greens.
I wonder, how I am coping with this new space in my brain? I am trying to fill it with niceties, but something else is creeping in. It is clear that this limbotic, seemingly still moment in my life, the year I turn 30, has made it clear that there is some major stirring within, a stirring I cannot even fathom, a stirring that is quite scary, ancient, dark, and necessary. Farm work took up those happy little spaces in my brain that had tortured me so long, and now, well, now there is room. Nature abhors a vacuum.
I guess writing is the key coping mechanism. Perhaps urge is more apt. This writing, just this writing, so far. I ordered a book called “Writing Down the Bones,” a sort of workbook I guess. Another urge. Gravitate towards the things you thought might heal you way back when, when the wounds were almost certainly fatal.
Ah. And I realize the other elephant in the room of coping is running. Yes running. Nothing else quite like the bone shaking addiction of running. As I write, I am resisting the urge to run today since I know my body can’t handle it 7 days a week. Yes, I know. I don’t quite cope, I beat myself into submission. Here’s to trying!
So, I have also made a lot of cakes, eaten a lot of cakes, and run, a lot, eaten more cake. And written once.