It's like, at the end, there's this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid? -Richard Bach
I’m idling in neutral right now, during this lovely ingress into summer. That’s a precarious position. I have no pressing book tasks – blurb requests have gone out, publicist’s survey complete – until late August. I have no fall class to prepare, only vague writing ideas without deadlines or expectations.
What the hell am I doing? At 59, this feeling of meaninglessness is less destructive, but still difficult to navigate, a vicious, consuming, imploding spiral. Everything I consider seems stupid. Self-disgust translates into irritation with the world, globally, locally, past, present.
My parents would say, “Do something for someone else.” But who needs me right now?
Breathe deep. Move forward. Emulate dogs and daisies.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 301: 146 words, TOTAL = 49,651; 10,349 remaining
6/28/2020 06:39:02 pm
Was scrolling backwards andIand saw this. I hear you. I had a period of time, from mid-March to late-May where nobody needed or wanted anything from me. Very, very disorienting. Do something for others is always a good plan, but there are 7billion choices there too. I sense you've made your way onto the path since this post.
7/3/2020 09:04:43 pm
Yes, you have identified this feeling beautifully. I'm doing just fine, and feeling lucky to have family like you. :)
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Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.