The blades just kept spinning like life and order and nothingness. Everything made sense in its whispered hum. I just faded in the noise, into time unaccountable and in the realization that my hands do less these days while my mind just spins in circles –much like the humming fan blades turning intoxicatingly.
I do far less these days, but I’m busier. And tired(er).
On an average of five hours sleep, I go until I cannot or should not.
Just a handful of months ago, I finished my first book to much joy and self-adulation. The amount of focus needed to see an idea through to storyboard, gruelingly sliced and shaped into an outline and then strung tighter together with words, pushed limits broader than I knew possible. I met the day earlier than dawn and the kids to work with diligence closer to the end. Words filled blank pages deep into night after the kids went to bed, all the while, working and learning to be a single parent between the margins of writing. As I look back at pictures of daddy daughter dates, first experiences as a single parent and too many dessert overloaded movie nights to count, I see me smiling easier.
Those days didn’t escape. We leaned into each moment honestly and didn’t even know it. We didn’t need to. The moment was enough and it was all we wanted – nothing more.
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