This morning as I was driving to work I had some ideas about what I was going to write this evening. That was this morning, over 12 hours ago. I’m sure that whatever it was was going to be good, but I don’t remember. So tonight I am once again staring at the blank canvas that is the window where the blinking cursor flashes balefully at me, waiting, waiting. I know, sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?
I write every day. In the morning, between about 5:30 to 6:20 I write two pages in my morning journal. It takes me a long time to write each morning, in part because even though I’ve been rising at 5:15 for nearly two years I still think my body protests and moves much more slowly in the morning than later in the day. It also is because my mind wanders numerous times as I sit writing, sipping my cup of coffee and rambling. I bookend my morning writing practice with this gratitude blog and much of the time it flows fairly well. Then I run into the periodic dry spell when my muses Thalia (comedy and light verse), Calliope (epic poetry), and Clio (history) all seem to have abandoned me, returning to their Greek roots and I find myself with virtually nothing to say.
I am grateful for the inspiration and the days when the words flow easily. I am grateful for the kind of creative flow that rises up and spills over filling the pages and computer screens with meaningful words. I think I must also be grateful for the dry spells when thoughts and ideas emerge sluggishly from my mind to words I can put down. While I might not enjoy those times, I am coming to understand and accept them for what they are, part of the natural seasons of life, the ebb and flow, the coming and going, the yin and yang. And so it goes.
This has been a long week, even though it has had the same number of days and hours as any other week. The pace has been hectic and now at the end of the week I am so grateful to be home and looking forward to a couple days of rest. While I have some things I need to do, the urgency to get a lot done is minimal. At the end of this week I find myself in thoughtful contemplation of many things–simple and complex, beautiful and sad. There should almost be a soundtrack to this contemplation, but I can’t quite hear the music. What I can hear is the sound of a soft rain pattering against the roof, the calls, chirps and whirs of the night creatures, and dozens of other tiny sounds all around me as my mind slows and I head toward sleep.
It is a time for simple gratitude. For offering thanks to “whatever gods may be” for all the richness and complexity of life and the many blessings that surround me all day every day. And at the end of this day and this work week, I am grateful. What are you grateful for this day?
