busy-work

One of my earliest memories was my dad saying “up and at it” and “get’er done”. I’m talking early grade school. Definitely sometime between 3rd and 6th grade.

I can’t be the only person my age who had too much time to think while walking home from school that young, growing up too fast. 

So I’ve never been good at waiting or leaving things up to others, especially if  I think I’m not a priority to them. I’ve always preferred to do things myself, depend on myself, and own my mistakes when I make them.

It’s uncomfortable and overwhelming to depend on others, on someone else's judgement and determinations, excuses for inaction. 

It’s uncomfortable and overwhelming to exist in limbo, waiting, filling time with busy-work.

cold has crept

Too late, the cold has crept

into bones and breath

temple to temple it stretches 

behind eyes taught

Gray skies, damp walls

a soul softly shackled 

to shuffling feet, legs

stiff with winter blues

Unmooring

The things I want to do are stuck until one little thing occurs. 

Shedding a life took three years. 

It was mostly physical; documenting my job at work, preparing the house to sell, gifting, selling, donating everything. Whittling away until my life was constrained to four duffles, three boxes, and a crate of art. 

The goal was clear, steps toward achieving my goal were attainable.

It was late March when I retired, early June when I drove cross country, and late July when I crossed the ocean. It was summer. The world was bright, a stunning white-hot. 

Unmooring took weeks. It was mostly psychological: depending on others, the impatience of waiting, the inability to take action. Limbo gave me too much time to sit with my own thoughts and the a lack of purpose except to “wake eat, sleep, repeat” overwhelmed. 

December, January, February, dark skies, cold, rain. Winter drags on as I drift without control.