A Process

My favorite days are when I have an open morning and even better if there is nothing on the schedule until picking up the kids from school.  And immensely better if I have worked out before coming to sit for hours. 

I grab my latte and sit with my computer.  Without a plan.  I read blogs, and make lists, switching from window to window, going where my [thoughts] takes me.  If I feel the need to connect, I will make a concerted effort to send emails, or comment on blogs or facebook.  But usually, I will just read, jot notes on pressing things that come to mind, relaxing into a no pressure, reflective, quiet readying for my day period.   

This may not be a quieting of the mind, but it is a slowing, a centering.  Usually, over the period of 30-45 minutes, one of two things occurs.   I land on a topic, or idea, and am able to focus and write for the morning.  Or, I acknowledge that there are too many other things I need to do, and go to town crossing those off the list.  Either way, I work straight through the morning and/or early afternoon and feel wonderful about whatever I have accomplished that day.  I also have energy, confidence and enthusiasm that carry all through the evening with my family.   

Without a doubt, though, the centering time, the time before I know what the day will bring, is the best time of my day.  It is during this time, I hold hope and possibilities and dream as if I have 10 lifetimes ahead of me.

I can write the novel about my grandmother’s life.  My memoir writes and twists and edits itself before my eyes.  I plan trips to D.C. and Africa and Alaska and Mardi Gras and Northern MInnesota.  I am holy, seeking more divinity, feeling God’s will metastisizing through my being. I plan weeks of healthy, wholesome meals that I am positive my family will eat.  Feelings of undying love for my husband prevail, and avenues to keep things alive.  I have beautiful, sweeping gardens that offer solace and retreat to my family.  I envision plans and events for our kids, our school, our community that will generate unabounding excitement.  My house is clean, all the clothes are washed, and all the chores are done.  

Then my cup feels lighter, and knowing my latte is coming to an end, I force myself to choose one thing.  One thing that will make a difference.  This is one of the hardest parts of my day.  I look at all the choices, and know that most will not get done to the degree I desire.  I have to make a strong and concerted effort to focus on what I have done, not what doesn’t get done, or I spiral into inaction.   So I very deliberately take one step forward, and I write, or I plan a meal or two, or I pay some bills and I check in with the tutor.  And I feel good about it.  I remind myself, daily, that I can not do it all.  And what I do is not only enough, but it is good.  

And there will be another day and another latte and another moment when I have all those choices again.