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| Places to Percolate |
At the end of every quarter I turn in my grades and breathe a sigh of relief. Then I wake the next morning and think about prepping. It's who I am. It's how I've lived. I can't imagine what it's like not thinking about what I'm going to do for my next set of classes -- tweaking curriculum, adding a new activity, figuring out state-of-the-art software. So a moment of giddy joy on Saturday turned almost immediately into a kind of panic. But before I could plunge too deeply into the void, Azalea came in to remind me we were going Christmas tree catching the next day and I was able to focus my energy on the familiar -- getting out the decorations, moving things around to make room for the tree, not-thinking not-thinking not-thinking about having nothing to do for six months.
What I know about myself is that the best way for me to write is to not write. I have to do nothing* in order to write freely. It's how I think. And it's impossible to do enough nothing when I'm working.
So Saturday I prepped for the Christmas tree, and Sunday we went and chopped down our Charlie Brown tree in the woods in a wee bit of a snow storm, then drank hot chocolate with Peppermint Schnapps to get warm before the drive home, and Monday I paid bills and cleaned things and continued not to think about the nothing that is waiting for me, and Tuesday -- which is today -- I ran on the ditch bank through snapping cold air, feet breaking through the thin crust on the snow that fell last week, and finally allowed myself to think about the nothing.
And this evening, after Azalea left to hang with her boyfriend, I made a plan. Right now I have a journal where I will write morning pages, and I will have this blog which is my baby-step move towards fulfilling my sabbatical promise. And tomorrow I will ask the Peoples of the Internets what you all think about how a writer who writes best by doing nothing can do something to engage with readers in the new world beyond the garret.
For the moment, that's enough. I await your suggestions, peeps.
*And by "nothing," I mean I need time to be mindless, walking, running, cleaning the house, riding (for although riding itself is mindful, many of the chores around riding allow space for that "nothing" in which writing develops).
I look forward to following your journey. It's funny. I had a mini version of this fear last week in Vieques. Carl and I got down there fighting colds and trying to emotionally heal post-election. I had made no plans, booked no activities and thought no further than getting there. The first day was bliss, no obligations, no timetables. I could let the cold work it's way through me and not have to "power through". The next day the slight panic started, could I be happy with nothing to do? Didn't I need to fill each unforgiving moment with sixty seconds worth of distance run?
ReplyDeleteUltimately, it as wonderful and I relaxed into nothingness and embraced it and enjoyed it but I do fear a world with no schedule, no timetable and no obligation or goals. Perhaps that's why I staying doing what I do because I haven't found the replacement to it!
Hi Mo,
DeleteI love the Kipling reference! Yep, every minute, sixty seconds packed and more packed. I'm glad you were able to relax into the bliss of having nothing to do but enjoy time passing in sunshine and peace.
If you see anything that stands out or catches your attention in the writing here, let me know. I haven't decided if I should split Lexi's blog off from my writing/sabbatical blog or just let the two mingle. I don't know too many people who would be drawn to both my "Oh look, isn't Lexi being amazing in her clicker training" and also to "Here is some potentially dark revelation about writing and life" posts. But maybe I'm misunderestimating my audience (to quote a past president who looks pretty benign and sweet these days).
Funny. I thought the best part of 30 years of teaching was the summers off that taught me how to retire. Nearly 20 years later, I'm sure I was born to be retired.
ReplyDeleteI do know that walking helps me to write, though doing "nothing" makes me too jittery to think about anything. For me doing nothing meant reading all the poetry books that I was too busy to read when I had papers to grade and classes to prepare for.
Now that I've caught up on all the poetry books I bought for 30 years, I've found time to explore new topics that interest me like Buddhism (and Chinese and Japanese poetry) and rediscovered philosophy, not to mention photography.
Not sure you can do that in a mere 6 months, but it should give you the freedom to open new vistas.
Hi Loren, Great to hear from you.
DeleteFor me that "doing nothing" is doing things that aren't productive in the way that most of what I get done is. So walking and running and gardening and other kinds of putzing around are "doing nothing." I think if I really did do nothing, I'd get jittery too. The thing I remember about having summers off, the few summers I did take off, was that it would take me almost the entire summer to let down enough to actually be productive in terms of writing. And then I'd be back at work. I just couldn't get into the writing focus in the first few weeks after the intense school year. I'm trying to bypass that here by figuring out a schedule from the beginning -- but maybe it's the schedule itself that is the problem!
I would love to be retired. I would have no problem keeping busy. :) And I am convinced that good writing happens by a kind of osmosis through reading good writing, so I know what I really need to do is read and read and read. After 25 years of reading pedantic, labored, tortured and just downright horrible writing, my brain is mush. So I'm seeking out reading to jump start my brain and looking forward to discovering new ideas. I'm definitely looking forward to new vistas -- even if only for six months!