Monday, August 25, 2008

I Walk


I walk.

I just finished walking up and down the hill that is our lovely street when I felt the writer’s block I thought was a preoccupation with the new job sort of ‘pop’. Maybe it was the iPod’s background music grinding out the overture to “Gypsy” that did it for me. Or perhaps that new song “Mercy” by what’s her name, Duffy? It’s so sexy! I just love it. Regardless, I haven’t had much desire to write over the last three weeks and while much of it was because I was exhausted, a portion of it was due to a lack of interest. I wanted to be in the moment, not observing it, blah blah blah. Given enough reign, the rational mind can conjure any number of excuses. I might say it was my muse, come back from her lakeside revelry, who brought me out of my introspective stagnation. She always gets me fired up no matter what part of the country I’m in. It may simply be that I find myself with an audience again, as previously estranged family members and acquaintances troll about my websites, succumbing to their own perverse curiosity. These are people who profess to disdain me and my family, and yet can’t stay away.

That’s alright.

I understand the need and do not begrudge them their voyeurism. After all, what is a blog for if nothing more than to satisfy a need to be noticed?

And so it is mutually satisfying.

Do not mistake this as a desire to make nice. I am pointing out the obvious insofar as you, too, are guilty of this simple pleasure. To chastise me for it now is to throw stones at yourself.

Elizabeth had her very first day of middle school today, and I’m exceedingly relieved to report it went well. Of course, Margaret was on the phone first thing this morning, and she was the first person Liz called when she got in the van. Despite reuniting with students and friends she left two years ago, I think Margaret’s absence was what kept the experience from being a complete success. Time spent apart over the summer hasn’t dimmed the light on their most bosom friendship. Have you seen “Anne of Green Gables” on public television? Let it tell the story of their enduring commitment to friendship, no matter what their age, which by the way is only eleven years.

The job is a blast. It’s what I trained for during my nineteen years at professional services boot camp. I’m challenged, enjoying myself, and making more than decent money. I’m over the initial adjustment, which was supremely but not surprisingly exhausting, and happy for the routine it affords me personally. I tried the stay at home thing, and found that after the cards, and sculpture, the stories and the blogs, I lacked motivation. I’m up early, in full face and hair by 7:00 a.m. and on a train bound for the city by 7:15. I still walk down Market Street with my eyes on the sky and the astounding line of high rises within it. The life and breath of this city is a palpable thing.

I am motivated once again.

You may recall, dear readers, that I committed to a personal revolution a la’ Jane Devin here. Meditation, exercise, only good foods … that was my mantra, felt strongly and with conviction after a visit to Amma in New York filled my self-discipline tanks to the brim. You may have also heard the resounding KABOOM! that was my ample derriere falling right off that wagon as our cross country move and related insanity tossed me limbs akimbo from my self-righteous pedestal. I’m gradually climbing back on the wagon, with Leslie giving me a solid push from the rear. She is a different person, having re-established the tie with the land that she so desperately needs to be happy. It was, after all, her drive and determination that got us here; that and a hefty load of good fortune and timing.

Well, I got home today, completely forgetting Leslie’s exercise plan, and took off all my work clothes. You see, I was supposed to be walking up and down our hill in the beautiful new tennis shoes she got for me mail order because I can’t stand trying shoes on in the stores. Once I was undressed, I didn’t want to do it. But Leslie, my prime motivator, started growling, and, showing an amazing aptitude for good sense, I changed my mind and got down to it.

And so I walk.

I walk and think of friends who once meant everything, no matter what the circumstances. I think of my muse, who took a leap off rational thought, and then decided it was I who pushed her. I think of my brothers, who are endlessly curious.
I think of the past, and ponder what I left behind … the baggage, the bondage, the bitchery.

I walk.

3 comments:

Sue said...

Walking usually pops loose the writing cobwebs. What I have found when I am blocked creatively is that I'm not really blocked at all. I'm merely holding myself to too high a standard and not allowing the flow to ease on out in whatever form it takes. Have you read any of Julia Cameron's work? The Artist's Way and The Right to Write - superb. Really, really good stuff.

Donna L. Faber said...

Hey Sue ... I can totally relate!

Jane said...

Yay, Leslie! Love and motivation are always linked.

Donna, I have fallen off the wagon as well, but like you it's temporary. It felt too good, that slow climb back into healthy, to let it go for the sake of convenience!

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