For the last week or so, I’ve been feeling like I’ve lost my focus. Writing and exercising both slowing a bit, and I’m getting less done around the house that isn’t basic day-to-day maintenance. There’s been dinner every night and things are still getting cleaned and vacuumed, but I still have things I want to fix and paint and clean out and a couple of major martial arts projects still to accomplish.
But things are dragging.
Maybe the part of the COVID shutdown that affects me personally has finally caught up. Maybe I’m looking ahead to that 50th birthday at the end of the year and trying to decide how to bring the most meaning to the rest of my life. Maybe I’m just restless because I haven’t been getting enough human interaction.
Okay, it’s not that third one. I function equally well on a psychological and emotional level as part of a group or individually, which is not to say I don’t have my own issues, especially when I spend too much time in my own head without sufficient creative output. This is, possibly, the longest I’ve had to function independently since I was a university student, though I have less opportunity for social interaction even if there are typically more people living in the house than I had as room mates for the bulk of my university time. (Kids are all at home, or not leaving, for the duration, so there’s five of us. Fortunately, the house is just big enough for everyone to stay out of each other’s hair when necessary.)
And that means it’s probably a combination of the first two. The idea that I should be getting more done for my family is pushing hard against my mental walls, and I am turning 50 at the end of the year.
So, with time out for sleep, and still making sure I was getting the appropriate housework done, plus a vet appointment, I’ve taken just a bit more than 24 hours now to seriously look inside my own head, thinking, meditating, and thinking a whole lot more. I skipped the blog post last night (ending the streak at 32 days in a row) and tried to sleep in a bit this morning which, combined with the weekly grocery trip, vet appointment, and heat wave, killed my opportunity for cycling until probably around midnight, and that seems a little dangerous. I’ve scribbled verse and made lists and mopped the kitchen floor to within a millimetre of its life (which it needed anyway).
Have I come to any solid conclusions? No, but that’s okay. I have come up with some avenues to explore and I’ve satisfied myself about directions to pursue.
One of those, and a critically important one, is still writing. I have lots of stories I want to tell. But I’ve reminded myself they aren’t all fiction. And the poetry is building again.
My martial arts journey isn’t going away, but it’s time for me to figure out the directions I want it to go and make the journey even more about the journey than worry about any specific sign posts on the way.
There’s lots still to come.
Dream a bigger dream. I know I’ve given that as advice, sometimes jokingly, sometimes seriously, but never to myself. So that’s what I’m doing now, giving myself that bit of advice.
Dream a bigger dream.
Stay safe and be well, everyone.by