There has been a calm about me in recent days, and I can't help thinking there must be a storm around the corner.
Content with my own company, I am gently moving through the days and completing each to do list without much fuss or task avoidance. Writing, reading, marking, walking: I am doing all the things I tell myself I'll do, and that's not like me. There is always something I'll put off until tomorrow, some reason I cannot go for the walks I so enjoy.
I lay awake, trying not to worry that the less efficient me will fumble through the door again.
I can't afford the airfares for an event I must attend in Washington D.C. in August, but there's a calm about that, too. The University denied me another grant, though I applied before the deadline they extended again and again, then cited the great number of applications as some reason I was denied. Would there have been so many if they'd left the cut-off date alone, I wonder, and would that have made any difference for me?
There is money in my account, next month's rent will be paid, but after that, I still have no idea, but somehow I am calm. Have I resigned the fight, am I refusing to try any more? I know there's no more energy for finding money - the thought of it makes me gag, I've so much more engaging and creative things to do, I can not be creative about ways to pay the bills, though they'll not pay themselves.
I lay awake, trying not to worry that this apathy is a prelude to something darker.
The solitude is welcome, I embrace this season of retreat from public presentation of myself, my research and my stories. I wonder, am I learning, at long last, how to ride the waves of the performer's life, the flow of being present, of presiding, holding others safe in their exploring and encounters with the stories, and the ebbing pull back into self to duck my head and drink the Spirit's nurture for my soul.
I am forgiving when I feel that I am absent from situations of others' need; do I know my place, now, encourager of bigger pictures, of community wellbeing, not the practicalities of detail in times of crisis? And that makes sense of my abilities, so much sense I breathe relief as I let go of guilt and disapproval for what I saw as some deficiency.
Have I discovered somewhere within me a trust that I am seen, trust deep enough to hold me through seasons of being unseen? Have all those affirmations finally sunk in to be believed: I have a gift that is worth giving, that is welcome, relax and let it flow?
Is this what peace is like, this gentle assurance that I'm OK, or more than that, and have only now to keep on thriving? (I admit, I'm close to crying as these words form before me on the page)
I lay awake, tying not to worry that I have worried over nothing.
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