I want you to try a little something for me. Don’t worry, it’s easy. If I were a betting woman I’d bet you do it all the time, anyway. I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to imagine it’s still Thursday. No, not ANY Thursday–Thursday last. November 1st. There you go, that’s it. Remember what you were wearing? What you ate for lunch? Good, good. Now imagine yourself in that outfit with that lunch, sitting at your computer reading this post. Imagine you have just read these words: I have signed up for National Blog Posting Month. Imagine I have explained to you that I just went to the NaBloPoMo website and could not access it from work, and because I couldn’t access it I didn’t post anything at all, because, after all, who has time to blog at home? Imagine I have made the commitment anyway, because I need to be writing, not just posting page after page of gratuitous pictures of my kid and random stuff around my house. Imagine this is my first post of the month, which I posted on Thursday, the first day of November. Which is today. Right? Right. I knew I could count on your wonderfully vivid imagination.
I’m glad we got that out of the way. Time. It’s just a mere technicality. And also a massive vortex of anxiety. It’s like a hurricane: on the outskirts of the storm you enjoy a nice breeze, but close the center you are battered by the wind. It’s all a matter of perspective. I’ve been in the middle of the storm lately, but only because I keep letting go of those secure objects I should be clinging to for dear life. I have not been busy per se, but I have been short on time, and it’s primarily my fault for allowing myself to be aimless and unscheduled. I have not been keeping a calendar. I have not been planning ahead. Even in the course of a day I have been letting things go until the last minute–easy, manageable things that, at the last minute, appear gargantuan and overwhelming. Cue Cher, and imagine me all stressed and twitchy, wishing it was three hours earlier, trying to mark off items on my to-do list so I can hurl myself on toward the next part of my day, where this maniacal process repeats itself ad infinitum.
This blogging-every-day-of-November thing is my first step on the return path to peaceful routine. If I’m the least bit successful you will notice (at least during the week) a pattern to my posting times, like a writing appointment that can only be kept if the rest of my day is well-managed. I’ll allow myself unscheduled spontaneity on the weekends, when, thanks to my offspring, who pretty much never falters from her own routine, I will write during one of her naptimes.
There is relief in writing something down, seeing it in print. I’m guessing the rest of you who have committed to NaBloPoMo feel a similar relief. I’ve said it…now I have to do it. It feels good, grounding, like watching a storm from the safety of your living room window, your hands firmly grasping the sill while life swirls all around you.