Who needs balance?
“It is vain to try to write unless you feel strong in the knees.”
During the first two weeks of this month-long writing experiment, I hit the ground running, and I hit it hard. It was challenging in every way, considering the painful memories revisited and difficult topics explored. Some evenings ended with me feeling as if I’d run a marathon that day.
But I treated the discomfort as a younger version of me would have, one who experienced burnout and exhaustion as frequently as the seasons change - ignore the pain, swallow your feelings, push harder. I had full intention of continuing this trajectory into week three…
But then something new and unfamiliar happened - I felt my own body ask for rest. My heart whimpered, my writin’ fingers trembled. I tried to ignore these messages at first.
All those parts of me, the inner voices, the ones that have run the show for decades - they’re overachieving hard-asses that resemble angry little drill sergeants. And yes, they kept me successfully fed and housed all these years, so it was tempting to comply as they shouted mercilessly, “WRITE! THERE’S NO TIME FOR REST! SUCK IT UP AND WRITE!” Aww, those little bullies are really good at their jobs! It’s kind of cute how relentless they can be.
And then something else new and unfamiliar happened - I patted them on their little, militant heads, and encouraged them to take a nap. And once they relaxed, I was able to as well.
I still did some writing, but far less than I’d planned, and I steered clear from the heavy, emotional stuff. I focused on what I was drawn toward, rather than what I thought I should be writing. I also revisited some books I’d read that helped comfort me throughout the toughest moments these past few years. I even prioritized some playtime and dug out an unopened puzzle and spent some time each day piecing it together, relishing in the simplicity, delighting as I progressed closer and closer to the finish line. Pressing in that last piece. So satisfying.
All to say, my plan required some flexibility and adjustment this week, and I required some intentional rest and nourishment. I had to quiet the inner drill sergeants on multiple occasions, as well as remind myself that writing a book is HARD, and takes time. It was never the plan to finish it in a month, so why was I putting so much pressure on myself?
Ahhh, it was a learning opportunity! I flashed back to a moment with my dad, his thoughtful reaction to my sheepishly telling him I was writing a book back in the summer of 2020. He said, “you’ll do it, just take your time.” With all my excitement and motivation, I forgot that much-needed fatherly advice. Thanks, dad.
So to celebrate growth and balance (this is a new concept for me!), I’m sharing two of my favorite pictures of my dad.
Until next Sunday…
Stephanie
Little Bobby, circa 1939.
Bob at work, circa 1965.
