Out Sick
and other reasons to hold gratitude
Today, I begin by taking a misty walk around the lake just after sunrise. For three days, I have been trapped by the perimeter of my yard. Everyone is sick, and although I am beginning to feel the ache of illness in my body, I walk. It is the kind of morning that lightens indiscernibly. There is no rain, just the pale, flat linen of grey sky pulled up over our shoulders, tucking us all back to bed.
When I return home, I take my children outside. They glide on twin red tricycles in the street. The sameness of these tricycles does not dissuade my children’s comparative arguing. There is a much grasping, pulling, screaming, and “No.”
We have been home for three days, fevered and mortal, but it has been good to pretend that nothing else in life presses on.
For the whole of my daughter’s life, we have pushed time forward, begging for the next day, the next, collecting weeks like pennies stolen from a fountain. It is survival, this lurch forward into the next day, and the next, and yet again the next, hoping that tomorrow will bring the answer. That enough work will translate into enough dollars. That the right recipe of sweat and stress and effort will become food. That our bellies will be full. That, finally, we might sleep.
I have forgotten how to pause, to wait. Often, in the afternoons, we sit outside and watch the day go by, but rarely do I wait. I fill the seconds with to-do lists, emails, texts, tasks. When forty white Ibis’ fly overhead, my daughter cries, “Bird!” but I am too busy calculating algorithms, converting follows to dollars, to look.
Yet, now, we are frozen in sickness, embodied, preserved in a moment of time. Around us, driveways are bare of cars, and lights are off, and no one is home, and the street is silent.
Whatever we are sick with, there is nothing to do but wait.
My body is zested with illness, and I am too weary to work. I sit in my rocking chair in the driveway and watch the children play, but mostly argue, and I wait. I wait for the birds to fly over us, and for my fever to pass, and for the day to collect at my feet.
Whatever I am sick with, whatever has caused me to wait, has also led me to gratitude. I am too tired to work, to strive. In the evenings, I paint. I paint because I cannot make money when I am stuck home, caring for sick kids. Because under their warm bodies, I have time to think of images, ideas.
It has been so long since I have done anything, just for the joy of doing it.
It’s strange. I almost don’t want to be better.
Journaling
In this month between first drafts of novels, I have been falling back into the practice of journaling. I am aiming for three pages longhand to start the day (as per Julia Cameron’s suggestion) but most days I write less than one notebook page somewhere in between waking and bedtime. Even so, this practice has offered so much wealth to my interiority and peace. Do you journal? If so, tell me about it. What’s your practice? Are you consistent? Do you use words or art? Why do you journal? I would love to share your responses in my next newsletter.
Write a novel with me?
In November, I’m celebrating National Novel Writing Month by hosting weekly gatherings at my book store, Inklings Book Shoppe- Bartow. Every Saturday at 9:15, we will be drinking coffee, chatting about our writing progress, and encouraging each other. I’m booking local authors, editors, and publishers to come by and meet the writers so that you can make connections. My hope is that this gives you a chance to build writing community, finish your first draft, and network. It’s totally free and I would love to see you there!
Recent Reads
Sue Monk Kidd wrote this brilliant memoir/writing craft book where she explores what it means to write, how we write, and why we even write at all. I have loved this author since Secret Life of Bees, and craft books are right up my alley, so of course I loved this. This was a perfect read coming into National Novel Writing Month (I hope you will participate with me!)
This book is not one that helps me develop a thriving business model, because reading it convinced me I should just be giving all my books away for free. BUT, it also reminded me that small, intentional gifts hold power. That they make a difference. That we should give more gifts.
What books should I read next?
Suggest some books to me, and I’ll try one or two.
Thank you for scrolling to the bottom of this page. I so appreciate your willingness to engage with this post and my writing. I appreciate your willingness to go on this journey with me as I find my voice and direction before I find any external success or notoriety. I am humbled by your willingness to see me in spite of how little I have to offer. Thank you!