I’m at my parent’s house deep in the West Country writing this – very overdue – blog. The snow swarms beautifully outside and it looks like we’re all going to be rooted here, in this white valley for at least the next couple of days.
Thinking I was only going to be here for 24 hours, I didn’t bring any work or even my laptop with me, mobile phone reception is sporadic at best and being pregnant, I can’t get involved with my parent’s wine cellar, as they are with great enthusiasm. So suddenly I find myself strangely adrift from the world, as though my life has come to a great big full stop.
What to do? Read, have baths, attempt the odd slippy-slidey walk. When I write those words, it sounds like my ideal break. So why am I struggling with not being able to do anything? Why do I feel as though I should be researching something for the book, planning this meeting, arranging various appointments. Why does doing nothing make me feel a bit itchy, a little panicked? Has it really been so long that I’ve just allowed myself to be without list and screen in front of me? Perhaps this practice of ‘doing nothing’ is my challenge, and isn’t as passive as it sounds. Maybe in today’s fast forward life actually ‘doing nothing’ has become a very real ‘doing’ an active process in letting stuff go. So, for the next couple of days I’m going to make ‘nothing’ my ‘doing’ and that’s plenty good enough for me.
Elgar out.
