Time seems to have gotten away from me. It isn’t that I haven’t thought of writing over the past year. It just seems that every time I sat down to do so, this, that, or the other came up and took priority. I spent the summer traveling, visiting with family, and catching up on some long overdue reading. I spent the fall shuttling girls to and from school; and I have spent the majority of the winter either taking care of a sick child or being sick myself. While the days may seem to drag, the year has obviously flown by.
Writing is, and always has been, an intellectual and emotional outlet, just as exercise has always been a physical outlet. Since beginning work in December, I have had little time to write, exercise, or do anything else for that matter. I spend my mornings rushing the girls out the door, my days working, my afternoons helping the girls with homework and my evenings cooking dinner and prepping for the next day. My weekends are spent cleaning the house and tackling the mountainous piles of laundry that have built up over the week. Every night, I fall into bed exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically.
If anything, this hiatus form writing has reminded me, not just, of how much I need it, but also of how much I love it. Reading the blog postings of others often makes me envious of their career choice. Yet, when it comes to writing, I often struggle. I struggle to pick topics, to find focus, to formulate coherent thoughts and words. However, relieving myself of persistent thoughts and emotions through writing, ultimately, makes the struggle worth it. It brings with it a sense of peace and well-being that has, I have come to realize, during this hiatus, been absent.
