The dark side of taking time away is that the world doesn't take a vacation with you. You come home to find piles in your mailbox, in your inbox, stacked messages in your voicemail, and a growing to-do list that threatens never to be done.
I was feeling frustrated about the lack of time for reading and writing, frustrated that I have a back log of things I want to share with you and can't carve out the time for - bemoaning that I can't just live a literary lifestyle full time.
Then I remembered sharing an anecdote about E.B. White during a client meeting to move her past a resistance, and later lying next to my sister and reading to each other from David Sedaris and E.B. White, and then the High Tea with the matriarchs of my family.
Or the reminder of a favorite poem and the introduction to a new one when shared by a friend on Facebook, or laughing at dinner over a library card disaster and my oldest boy fondly noting what a dork I am, and our subsequent discussion about the life of the mind.
The literary thread still weaves through, even when my schedule is stuffed to bursting with obligations of a different nature.
Oh, and the vintage copy of Rilke's poetry that came in the mail while I was away. From Die Funfte Elegie (The Fifth Elegy):
And the youngster, the man, like the son of a neck and a nun: so tautly and smartly filled with muscle and simpleness.
Your word this week, from that passage, is: