My writer's block/procrastination fueled by a truckload of Overwhelm hasn't quite cleared yet. It feels like so much "fits and starts". I trust that I'll feel back to normal soon, and in the meantime I move myself gently through the day. You know, instead of the internal beatings we humans love to give ourselves for being...human.
Going "home" (coming home?) is said to be tricky emotionally, and after a few weeks here, I must agree. We spend our adult lives sorting out all the positives and negatives from our childhood, and these are irrevocably attached to the places we grew up. Coming back to this place I spent the last years of childhood - there is a hefty gravitational pull to it. The pull to regress, the pull to relax and stop moving, the pull to settle (in all the variations of definitions), the pull to change it.
It's neither wholly good or wholly bad, it's just a pull, like tentacles wrapped around the calves at sea, with no shore in sight. Fighting could lead to exhaustion, relaxing could lead to going under. It's a test, so I pace myself.
I bike along trails, help my mother with the business (at a harvest festival over the weekend), take in the sights, and cook with fresh ingredients from the garden and greenhouses.
Your word this week, dearest word-nerds, is: