Restless

One morning, I’m restless.

I go upstairs and stand at the picture window in the living room looking at the greening hills on the other side of the valley. I turn around and go back downstairs to my office. I stand in the middle of the room looking at the mess on both of my desks.

I consider tossing some papers in my bag and going out somewhere to write. But where? But why?

I sit down in the chair at my writing desk, put my head in my hands, and say a prayer. Then I reach for my Moleskin notebook, and one of the many pens on my desk, and start scribbling, trying to make sense of it all.

The answer comes as I write. The ache in my arm from writing “hard and clear about what hurts” (thanks for that thought, Mr. Hemingway) doesn’t change anything, but with it comes a settling.

I get some things done that I hadn’t intended to get done, still prickly and hungry to get back to that better thing, but the day ends with a feeling of accomplishment, nonetheless.

 

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.
3 comments
  1. I know the feeling, Linda!

  2. I did something I hadn’t intended today – I helped an inspiring writer with editing and proofreading hacks, gratis. I needed a break from studying for finals (next week, ga!), so I thought the best thing would be to help someone else. It worked. Now back to studying!

    1. Good for you for giving the gift of your time and expertise to that writer. It’s things like this, and people like you, who change the world one piece at a time. Best of luck with your exams!

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