The hour is late. My fingers glide over the keyboard. I type a few sentences. Then I hit delete. The blank screen stares at me like a pair of headlights on a dark road. Struggling, I start again. The pile of books on my desk are a distraction. Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl and J.Palacio’s Wonder shift my attention. Not now, I whisper, as if the presence of these books are the reason why I am in this particular predicament. Sitting straight, my spine loses its curve, like I’ve rounded some corner I did not know existed. I stretch my arms to regain my attention. It is time to focus, I say out loud, glancing at my calendar, knowing that in a few hours, I will make new choices to dictate how the day will unravel.
Since October, a streak of melancholy punctuates some of my days. Part of this undertow of sadness comes from a break in my routine and spiraling into mindless noise that increases my anxiety. As much as I try to focus on stripping my life of moments that don’t matter, I succumb again, like an addict who can’t give up that last bet, drink or drug. I enjoy busy, but I also value my solitude. In this last month, the gap between the two is one I cannot negotiate well. I have too much of one or the other which contributes the lopsidedness in my days. It also leads to not feeling like I am not doing anything well.
I am a distracted parent, making a peanut butter sandwich while glued to my Twitter feed. I write, but I stop because the laundry in the corner of my room needs a home. While on the treadmill, I pay attention to the TV feed, while listening to music and playing Words with Friends. I start my day with a green smoothie, but by mid-afternoon, I’ve taken several sips of that fizzy Coca Cola. I know what needs to be done and even write it down, but in the evening, the same tasks are glued to the page and will carry over to the next day.
***
A good friend tells me that life moves in and out of a certain season. This year in particular the unrest is palpable. Entering midlife, time’s markers are emphasized with a gravity I didn’t realize before. I woke early this morning and I took a step outside to try to gain some newfound clarity to the ramble that is not only running in my head, but spilling on the page. Walking outside on my patio, a cold breeze greeted my footsteps, the crisp and light air strummed with tranquility. Above my head, a light blue sky glittered with a crystalline quality one can only appreciate in the early hours of the morning. In the distance, I spotted the sun’s rise. I took a breath. The sun’s rays appeared like a halo in the distance.
I stood outside for a few minutes.
Inhaling the moment, I stayed with the quiet and let it dictate how this day might unfold.
Maybe it’s time for a new kind of a season.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Yup. Me too.
Cheers to you today, Rudri. Acknowledging that there can be a new season and inviting it in are powerful things. I expect you’ll have a much better November because of it 🙂
Thanks, Windy, for your virtual and in-person encouragement. I hope November and the end of the year bring treasures for both of us.
So wise. I often compare the way I fight certain things in life with childbirth. I go back to the midwife saying, “Go with it.”
Thanks, Amanda. Sometimes acceptance is the truest form of surrendering to what is.
Beautiful writing, Rudri. I’ve been having that kind of time lately. Perhaps I’m slipping into this empty nest of ours and acquainting myself with it and my new self and wondering what to do with all this free time, kind of melancholy as well. I see stepping outside gave you a freshness; it does that for me as well.
Thanks, Susan. It appears so many are facing the distractions and noise and are looking for that season of quiet. I know that nature offers a balm that I am unable to find elsewhere. I’ve tried to step outside to help remember the goodness and pull me out of my melancholia.
There is a certain kind of “gravity” isn’t there? I never thought about it quite that way, but you’re so right. I feel like I’m entering a new season of hunkering down, perhaps not so coincidentally with the cold weather that is encroaching. But I feel a new focus, though unsure how long it will last and so I am committed to putting blinders on. It’s not always feasible, I know. So I like how you let that quiet moment dictate how your day would go–I need to do that more instead of fighting against the current. Beautiful words.
Thanks, Kristen. It is a pull, like the one you describe. It’s a type of nesting that has nothing to do with carrying another human being, but trying to adjust to a new self that is attempting to figure out the nuances of this season. I am trying to find that quiet moment to help me steer through the angst. I appreciate your insight.
Beautiful Rudri 🙂 I know that feeling – things feel as though they’re out of control, thoughts that flood and overflow – there’s no stopping them then there are moments of drought where you can hear a pin drop. It’s definitely that kind of season and I’ve learned to write down 3 tasks that need to be completed daily – that way at least i feel something is getting done that needs to be done and my mind is clear. Have a great one Rudri! -Iva
Thanks, Iva. I like your idea of incorporating mindfulness into your daily routine. I think the sense of accomplishment on tasks helps in uncluttering the mind. And that leads to finding the quiet more quickly.
I’m usually energized by autumn — the changing of the leaves, the apple cider, the pumpkin, and the crisp air. I love the way the light shifts and becomes softer, pinker across the buildings of the city. But so much of my day is spent inside that it becomes easy to miss these markers (I love that you used that word). Before I realize it, one season blurs into the next without taking time to honor it as it passes. Thank you for your post and the reminder to do that a little bit every day.
Jackie: I love your description of autumn. I think that finding the markers requires an awareness. I’ve made it a point to take a step outside and observe my surroundings. Interacting with nature is an immediate uplifting experience.
Amen to that. I think there’s even a Led Zeppelin song out there that talks about the winter of our discontent.
I love October. November generally knocks me off my feet with the time change and the empty darkness.
Yes, the winter of our discontent. Sounds very fitting. I know it is temporary and there is a glimmer of comfort around the corner.
This is so beautiful… I’ve been in that melancholy and distracted season before, and I feel like I’m finally emerging from it just in the past few months. Things I dreaded for months are turning out to be blessings in disguise. Sending you hope that your new season is closer than you think!
I am happy to hear that the elements you dreaded are turning into unexpected good surprises. I realize that some seasons are filled with this distracted energy. For now, I will learn to sit with it until it passes. Thanks for your encouraging words. xo
I love everything about this post. I have felt a shift in my mood these days and I hope that the melancholy will go away.
Ayala, hope you find a way to steer your mood in a comforting direction. Know that you aren’t alone. xo