I took a big ol’ break from writing while on vacation last week. There were days and days of not writing; like, four of them in a row.
I thought not writing for a little bit was a good idea.
I thought I’d use my time to go for a walk or fourteen in the sun. To spend dedicated time with Greg. To eat pizza from a brick oven and fresh pasta with pesto sauce.
I thought I’d unplug and rest.
I thought wrong.
Truth be told, I didn’t much like not writing. It kind of sucked. And, in combination with missing my kids, it made me a teensy, tiny bit crazy. Like, nuts. Like, out of my head. Like irritable and grouchy and short-tempered like I often am, but without my writing pressure-release valve. Like, Greg didn’t ship me across the ocean on the first available sea barge but only because he’s nice to me in ways I don’t earn (and also probably a little bit because I offer him seven fabulous minutes every now and then).
It turns out, I need to write to dislodge the clogs that build up in my head. Like a chimney sweep with a big, bristly brush, I need to push through the dark toward the light, even those I know something messy will undoubtedly fall out.
I also missed writing because of all of you who admit you’re traveling the Crazy Road with me. I missed having you in my head to remind me that the insanity is normal so we can debunk the pressure of perfection together. I realize now that I’m home that I find my most authentic Village in the land of confessed imperfection, and I miss this home when I’m away.
So I wrote today in between bouts of caring for a sick kid. The writing felt good. The sick kid is getting better. And I have new posts coming soon. Tomorrow, I think.
Bear with me for a little bit longer while I poke around in my head. And thanks for hanging in there with me.
P.S. You can thank me later for changing my chimney analogy from a zit analogy. I did it because I like you. And because I didn’t want you to ralph on your computer.
I give and I give.