The day everything was off

The day everything was off

I didn’t lose power, I didn’t lose anything really other than maybe another hour of sleep. But today felt like it started like many of mine do–tired and resistant to the idea of leaving my bed. The overcast skies were of no help either.

Today is another day. A day for work and making meals and fighting the never-ending battle of being overrun by toys in almost every inch of my house. It started with the no-less-than ten-minute game of “clothe the toddler” as he playfully scrambles from room to room while I chase after him, trying to squeeze on another article of clothing. By the time we had finally packed the car and headed to preschool I thought we had made it. We got there, albeit late, and now the day could start anew as I spent the next few hours kid-free. But as I drove over to work at a new-to-me coffee shop with a friend, I struggled to gather my thoughts and my fatigue.

I arrived feeling disheveled and out of place. This wasn’t my usual work spot on the couch. It was full of lively college students and young adults with their multi-colored hair and trendy green coats. My computer needed an outlet to survive, which meant wedging myself in the middle of a small bench to claim access to the power strip. It was loud and full of stories, but made it hard to write mine.

As I attempted to get in a groove and focus, I realized my wedding ring I’m constantly adjusting was left at home due to going rock climbing last night. My back-up hair tie was also gone from my wrist, and I have nothing to fidget with. Suddenly I’m surprised to be staring at a blank page without a clue what I will write.

Am I in over my head? What am I doing here? If I can’t manage a simple thing like showing up to a new coffee shop without feeling like a total klutz, how will I convince someone to hire me for more freelance assignments? What if I’m not a real writer anyway? If I can’t manage the first sentence, how will the next 1,500 words of this assignment ever seep out?

That toddler who needs to be picked up in an hour? I can barely seem to get him dressed in time for school and am often counting down the hours until nap time or bedtime. What if I’m not cut out for this? I’m not that mom who makes sensory bins or has a new project for him each day. Sure, we go on long walks around town and hit up some museums occasionally, but often our biggest outing of the week is the grocery store. And it’s an Aldi week…the prices are good, but I don’t feel like I have the patience for the manual labor that trip requires.

Some days I feel more in the zone, more confident and capable. More grateful and maybe more rested. But regardless of off days or on days, I have to remember we as humans will experience both. We can’t constantly achieve and succeed. It’s not all upward motion. We need to go down to go up, or even just to go forward. There will be doubts, questions, or feelings of inadequacy. There will be “meh” cloudy days that no amount of caffeine can pep things up. Not even bad, terrible days, just off days. Days of feeling like a klutz and mentally disorganized.

Today might be off for me. It might even be a total wash, only time will tell. But I’m still doing it. I’m a writer and a mom, a wife and friend. It’s just a matter of continuing to show up–whether feeling on or off.

Who knows, maybe the off days define us more than the on ones?

 

 

Spell it Out

I write. You can’t deny it. Whether you think it’s good or bad is not the point. Regardless, I write. I write when I’m thinking through something or learning new lessons or fighting my fears or fleeing from life’s many mysteries. I write to sort through my thoughts and sometimes even to share them with you. It’s an expression and an art form, yet it also remains one of life’s simplest tasks. You don’t need to be a published author to write a to-do list. Nor a famous blogger to type out your daily activities. There’s something I love about that. And something about it that I detest.

I love writing. There’s so many things I could say about it yet still barely scratch the surface. That’s just it. How do you express what can’t be put to words? How to describe the clarity of colors? Or how to go on about the desperate desires of the heart set to song? Sometimes I wish my form of expression wasn’t something also found on a mere post-it note at work. But, oh how I love post-it notes. I love using a pen to jot something down as it emerges from a flitting idea into a coherent thought. The moment you escape the present and get lost in a realm of possibilities.

Writing makes you pause. You have to consider the appropriate word, and even reconsider it, before moving to the next. What is it? How to organize the countless thoughts that are running through your head? Which one takes precedent? Scream and shout. Whisper and murmur. It all looks the same on paper.

I think I could write an entire book about writing without really saying anything at all. Consider this my attempt at abstract art—a mess of colors that can only be truly understood by its creator, if even so.