I am the notorious “busy lady,” always on the go, never standing still. Yet there are times and spaces in my life where even I know it’s time to grind to a halt and welcome the art of doing nothing.
I used to feel this unreasonable guilt when I would take off for a few days or just get up on a Saturday and ignore the invites to some function or other. My bed would be my dance floor and my sweats and Tshirt would be my haute couture.
I am sitting on a porch today high in the Smokeys enjoying the smell of my husband’s coffee. We both rock in rhythm in our chairs. Our view is a canvas of mountains, low lying clouds and a sun waiting to make its grand entrance.
My mind is clear and am able to churn out my thoughts with no writers block to stop my creative flow.
My husband anticipates this type of living in our sunset years. Me, I want a slice of this as often as I can. It patches up those leaking spots in my spirit, mends the chipped parts of my soul. No guilt, no explanations.