It has been so long since I had a quiet space in which to sit and write, unencumbered.
I used to see myself as wild and loud in my teenage years. I would have thought it an insult to be called quiet, or a loner, or the kind of person who was befuddled by noise and action (all of those traits which describe me quite well in my current incarnation). What a dullard that kind of person must be! It was just a lot of posturing though. I have always secretly craved peace and stillness. I recharge by being completely alone.
The older I get the more I realise how nourishing and necessary quiet times are for me, and how draining and distracting noise and mess and chaos can be. It’s kind of a pity that it took becoming a stay at home mum to two small children to realise this fully! Now my life is non-stop noise and mess and chaos, and I pinball from day to day in a state of exhausted confusion. Every now and then, my husband will take one look at my blank, bleak face and forcibly remove me to a place of quiet. Don’t get me wrong, I love these days. I will miss them painfully when they are gone. But the thoughtful, solitary me who just wants to daydream and scribble for an hour or six finds this life very, very hard.
There isn’t a great deal of “re-imagining” going on at this point. There isn’t a lot of imagination of any kind. I’m really just putting one foot in front of the other, day after day after day, until the next phase of life emerges.