I’m tired. The period between Thanksgiving and January 1st, always leaves me out of breath and exhausted. There is too much to do. Time to write, paint or stare into space is diminished. Instead I get pulled into the rush, rush of the season, stay up too late, get up too early and am tempted by the yumminess that pervades store shelves, edible and otherwise. It isn’t that the holidays are nasty. It’s that these big celebrations come all at once and last for well over a month.
Bill and I had a fun visit with our daughter, her partner and our two amazingly wonderful grandchildren in North Carolina. We rented a small Townhouse just a quarter of a mile from their house for a week. We took turns cooking, went to see the movie, Tin Tin on Christmas eve, and spent Christmas morning wading through gift wrap. Zoe spent two nights with us, Noah only one. He said he heard strange noises in the night and couldn’t sleep. We did a lot of walking and I was thrilled that Lisa took me to her Groove class, a delightful dance/exercise class featuring fantabulous music and soaking wet clothing by the end of the hour. The weather was cold but perfect.
This morning, I’m finally feeling that I can get back to things I left on the back burner while I was otherwise engaged. Last night, I decided it was time to get over the big overwhelm and holiday grind. I plan to take a long walk today instead of going to Yoga. The day is sunny and on the warm side. I slept in until 7:30 (I know, I know!) and took my time walking Sam and having my breakfast. From my kitchen window, I caught a glimpse of a neighbor I haven’t seen in months and ran out to give her a hug and meet her new dog, Mystique. It felt wonderful to renew our connection and we promised to get together soon for tea and allow Sam and Mystique get to know each other.
I’ll tackle the heaps of paper surrounding my computer. They keep sliding down onto my mouse pad, making writing extremely difficult at times. And then there is the stuff in my head that needs attention. Things I haven’t had time to write about, like the fact that I have made the commitment to write a memoir. It’s been hard for me to say it out loud or to jot it down on paper because once I put it out there it becomes a fact. I can’t hide from myself anymore or the voice of my inner critic who screeches, “Who the !#@$ do you think you are? Write a memoir? You can’t do that. There is nothing in your life that other people would be interested in reading!!”
Sound silly? I think it’s pretty typical and since that screechy voice comes from someone I envision as being about three feet tall and wears her hair standing on end, I can only laugh. I tell her, “It’ll be okay. I am writing a memoir … because I can, because I want to, because I need to understand who I really am and how I got that way. I can file away all my stories in my head, but they will never become clear to me until they are written down on paper.”
Bill is going on a trip for a week this month. I’ll use the time to tend to myself and retreat from the usual business I get bogged down in. I did it for a week in the fall at the beach and it was lovely. At home I’m tempted to ramp up that kind of alone time with too much stuff. Since I’ll miss Bill, keeping busy helps the time pass quickly until his return. But I won’t do that this time. I plan on rolling in and out of bed when I feel like it, not knowing how the day will unfold. I’ll just let it happen. Let it be a surprise. Take long walks, deep breaths, write, read and leave the holiday season behind for another year.