Hi. Hello.
With late spring and early summer races cancelled, a massively disrupted work schedule and the fear of the unknown right back on my doorstep, I suddenly have much more time on my hands. While I plan to establish a routine to prevent fully transforming into a sloth, and perhaps finishing all of my forgotten homestead projects that I have ignored whilst recovering and training, I also hope to establish a practice of "self-care."
Self-care is something I tend to scoff at - I'm the personality that is turned up 99% of the time. Who the fuck has time for bubble baths? Projects, movement, engagement, experiencing life. But that personality has also been a mechanism for burying my issues deep within that busy-ness. And now that I am healthy and can recognize that toxic behavior, I want to remember that calm feeling I had when I was painting during my recovery in 2018, and when I was trying to fill the void of a fractured relationship in January.
I hope that this forced quarantine will be an opportunity to determine what my Normals are when life returns to its fullest. Part of that is remembering things that I loved to do in solitude: writing, gardening, drawing and painting.
So, hi. Hello. My name is Molly. I used to dream of being an author when I was a child. I applied to several colleges with English programs, with the intention of becoming a journalist (think National Geographic, not FOX News...), and this was my back up plan if I was not cut out for being a veterinary technician. Turns out, I was cut out for the profession, so I just kept a blog full of thoughts, creative writing prose and inspirations throughout my twenties. I quit writing in 2015. But with five years of adventure and heartbreak and spotty shouting into the void, I hope to retrospectively record my experiences.
That way, when I have dementia, and I ask my great-grandchildren where the scars on my body came from, they can read to me from whatever new-fangled technology device they have. That, and confronting my truth will, I think, help establish some foundation for believing that I am a better person than I give myself credit. Living your truth, as they say, is really hard.
So, hi. Hello. My name is Molly. I used to dream of being an author when I was a child. I applied to several colleges with English programs, with the intention of becoming a journalist (think National Geographic, not FOX News...), and this was my back up plan if I was not cut out for being a veterinary technician. Turns out, I was cut out for the profession, so I just kept a blog full of thoughts, creative writing prose and inspirations throughout my twenties. I quit writing in 2015. But with five years of adventure and heartbreak and spotty shouting into the void, I hope to retrospectively record my experiences.
That way, when I have dementia, and I ask my great-grandchildren where the scars on my body came from, they can read to me from whatever new-fangled technology device they have. That, and confronting my truth will, I think, help establish some foundation for believing that I am a better person than I give myself credit. Living your truth, as they say, is really hard.
Comments
Post a Comment