Itch
I felt
it bubble
Up, within.
Alien? No.
So familiar,
An old friend.
Blinders up –
drive, home, eat, wine, write
Penelope purrs.
Type, strike, write
The words flow.
Empty bowl.
The itch Scratched,
Familiar.
Hello, old friend.
Please, come again.
I rushed home to write. I don't know
where the urge came from, but as I was exercising on the elliptical
after work today (and thinking about dinner), I felt this feeling
bubble up inside me. At first, it felt a bit like a what a sink does
after the water's been shut off for a couple hours - sputtering and
splirting, trying to build up enough pressure in the pipes. Then,
all-a-sudden, WHOOSH! This feeling bursts forth. So, I cut my
workout short and here I am, sitting at my dining room table, still a
tad sweaty, intermediately forking forkfuls of reheated mac &
cheese, sipping on a chilled glass of white wine and typing.
This feeling felt foreign. And, it
wasn't just simply the wish to write exactly. It was more like,
feeling motivated. I've grown pretty comfortable in my sort of
routineish life – living in a home, working a job, dating a dude –
it's been comfortable and, I must add, pretty darn rad. Those three
things I listed? Not exactly something I had on a regular basis
throughout my 20's. Especially not all at the same time. I think I
used my post-college, mostly single years as license to run from most
anything resembling the word “comfort.” I craved uncertainty,
nomadism, and romantic flings. And, with that, I felt very much in a
creative flow. I traveled – when I traveled, I photographed things
– when I photographed things, I wrote stories. I did all these
things to entertain and be entertained. I wanted to fill my days
with experiences and memories. I took pictures, journaled, and
blogged so as not to forget. I created.
This comfort I've felt for the last
year has been a blessing in so many ways. I really have grown to
enjoy knowing where I'm going to sleep at night, buying things (like
living room lamps and dishtowels!!), and feeling loved, supported,
and respected by a bearded cuddlebug of a man. I've felt myself
becoming less of the person who does 10 day silent meditation
retreats and week long juice cleanses and growing into more of the
person who has a cat named Penelope, gets annoyed when dirty dishes
are left in the sink, and wonders what kind of wife and mother she'll
be in the not so distant future. I have to admit – never in the
longest stretches of my imagination did I think I would find such
comfort in the comfortable.
But, I was beginning to wonder where my
motivation to create had gone. I would think about all the ideas I
used to have – they'd come to me in the shower, on long bike rides,
or listening to a Ted Talk. I recall scribbling down plot lines for
books and new entrepreneurial business ideas and being so jazzed it
would keep me up at night. I don't have many of those sleepless
nights anymore.
Maybe that's a good thing? Maybe it's
not? I honestly don't know. All I know, is that tonight, I had an
itch. It felt strange, but it felt important too. So, I put the
blinders up, and I went home, determined to stay in the zone. Very
curious to know if this feeling will continue as the days and weeks
progress. I hope it does. It feels good, like an old friend.
