Absent any pressing need for me to cook, garden, escape, I slump.
mead in the making
You all know this — I’ve said it many times — but to quick recap: for two decades, my family was my life’s backbone, giving me structure and purpose, as well as something to rail against and escape from. And now that that’s (mostly) done, I’ve got to figure out what to do.
sour cherries, lemons, raisins, honey, pre-blending
In some ways, this problem is a gift: many people can only dream of such freedom, and it’s all I dreamed of when the children were little. But I also think that many people (me included) who say they want this freedom really don’t. They (I) will do anything and everything to avoid getting sucked down into the abyss of the gaping void of “why does this even matter” and “who am I anyway”.
aeration via the creation of a cyclone
To put it another way: sometimes the busyness becomes the fuel, the reason for Doing. We have to do it, we say, and as long as we believe that, we’ve got something to safely rail against. Because once an element of choice is introduced — I don’t absolutely have to do this, so why am I? — suddenly there’s a gaping void.
Day five: we have fermentation, wheeeee!
To be clear, in my situation doing something like taking a job or going back to school or taking up watercolors, just for the sake of doing it, is not gonna cut it. Sure, I can (and do) fill my days with stay-busy activities, but those things don’t even begin to come close to meeting my need for a bigger purpose. I need to need it, or it needs to need me, whatever “it” is. That’s what I’m figuring out.
watching the fruit slowly swirl and the water in the airlock bubble as the mead off-gases
I’m doing all the things I know I should do, that I want to do, to keep me healthy and on the right track: exercise, community involvement, expanding my social circles, and in the darkest of times, cleaning. I also I signed up for a four-week kickboxing course that’s cheerfully whupping my butt, two months of hip-hop and jazz classes that haven’t started yet (can’t wait!), and I auditioned for a play. I figured burning off my angsty energy and pushing myself to do new things in my body might help ground me.
Or at least help me sleep better.
This same time, years previous: family road trip: Boston, the coronavirus diaries: week seventeen, burnt cheesecake, roasted zucchini parmesan, twist and shout, the quotidian (6.30.14), fútbol!, dark chocolate zucchini cake, a break in the clouds.