Blank Pages Stuck Together
This week has been a blur.
I think part of the busy-ness is necessary--an acclimation to my new title at work. Another part of it is bad habit. Rather than force myself to slow down, I rest my brain in the worst ways possible: through Facebook, web surfing and cell phone screens.
I'm calm but frantic. How can I be both?
I heard on an old episode of "Invisibilia" that if you focus on a question before you go to sleep, you'll dream the answer. Last night I asked myself: How do I use this excitement to drive me forward without growing depleted? How do I find balance?
I woke up remembering nothing.
Emily Carr writes:
I am looking through my book and see several places where the blank pages are stuck together. Isn't that like life? Those blank days that stuck together and recorded nothing! In our carelessness we stupidly let them stick and remain blank. Instead of prying them open and rejoicing at the things that were in those days, we let them stay empty.
If you don't write things down where do they go? Into the lazy bog of neglected opportunities. Thoughts we might have developed, actions we might have accomplished. Inertia and deadness. Look what is happening in the garden this very minute. All the little winter thoughts of it are bursting forth. The earth has softened down, opened up, paid attention, and developed her thoughts. Now there is a roaring hubbub, a torrent of growth gushing forth that won't be stopped because the dear old earth has nursed and treasured her thoughts deep down in the winter quiet. Now they are paying her back gloriously. If only we did our part as faithfully.
I read both passages last night and thought: "I might be coming to the page each evening with little left to give, but I'm glad for this practice."
Better a flawed record than none at all.