summer tabula rasa-ing


This week has felt strange and almost otherworldly. Even the weather, this gorgeous but chilly fog and rain, has been uncanny (fog is an embodied memory of home for me). I've been grounding myself by cleaning and spent yesterday afternoon rearranging my kitchen. Sometimes, one needs to get moving in order to get unstuck completely. It is going to happen in it's own time, though. I recognize the pattern enough that I know resistance is futile.

And oh, I am totally in love with where the fridge is now! It opened up the entire room and the entire first floor of the house feels much less cramped to me now, just changing where the refrigerator is. Little changes never cease to amaze me. And instead of waiting til next year to replace our old, not-at-all-energy-efficient model, it now looks like we can replace it this summer! This makes eco-me happy. Of course, if we saved up more, I mean a lot more, maybe we could afford a Tesla. Le sigh. Le motherfucking sigh.

Anyway, it's also the penultimate week of second grade. (I know, what! Many of my friend's kids have already gotten out. Ours is a late schedule, I guess.)

And so I am also tabula rasa-ing the house in preparation for the summer art explosion I know is coming. Clean slate. At the end of summer, I'll need to clean slate again. It's part of our seasonal life.

Rem is doing summer camp again, so I'll continue to have writing (and alone) time during the summer. Also so he continues to have a schedule, which is important. We'll still have transition issues, but camp mitigates them somewhat and for that I am grateful.

Part of the strangeness of this week is feeling pulled to start a new project. A very big (write a real book) project. A really big, scary project that has me feeling out of my depth.

(A project about my grief-work and helping other people become grief-workers or at least, helping them comfort their grieving friends with less awkwardness.)

Embracing this terrible, awesome gift that I have, that I've had to use so much in these past few years, helping my grieving friends.

(There is so much grief in this beautiful fragile world.)

Yesterday, the deal was sealed (for me, at least) when M - the man who has learned how to help me as I help other people grieve - completely out of the blue, while he was playing his guitar, looked at me and suggested I start the very project I was thinking about how to start! We've talked about my gift with grief a lot, but I had not mentioned I was thinking of writing a book. He knows me well.

I am still not entirely sure how to start. And I feel a lot of trepidation. This is a Big Project. A life-changing project, if I am able to follow through and do the work I need to do. And I'm scared I won't be able to follow through (and I'm scared I will be able to follow through). And so I know I need to start. Fear, just like grief, shows us what we love.

And yesterday's post is actually all the advice I need: just start. Write it out and let the words flow. Don't worry about the outcome so much. Just write what needs to be written.

And so I shall. Big deep breath: yes. I will start.

But first, today, lunch. Prep work. Tabula Rasa. Start with a clean slate. Yes.