Nothing ever stays the same. This we all know.
Having children means things stay even less the same.
I’m not good with unpredictability. This we all know. And so I have been making it a daily goal and practice to get better at it. Better at going with that proverbial “flow.”
Back in late March I had set up a five days per week writing plan for myself (I had been writing daily for close to a year at this point, but developed a more goal specific schedule in March). This included getting one blog post per week written (with 1-2 of the days devoted to that goal). The other days were devoted to revision (mostly) and new writing and reviews (very little). At that time I was getting up at 5:30 every morning to write. Generally Levi was sleeping until 6:30 (earliest) and sometimes as late as 7am. This allowed me anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour of writing time, after I got my coffee, which I divided between journaling/warming up and the tasks I just named. That time alone to write, think, and dream was my lifeline. It made me so happy that every night when I got into bed, I’d feel joy just thing about that morning cup of coffee and time at my desk.
During the first week in June, that morning routine–that lifeline to sanity–was abruptly broken by my son’s new morning routine: waking up at 5:30 instead of 6:30. (One morning it was 4:30 and he was all, “I want to read a book,” which makes all things relative, but still…). At first I was steaming mad. I couldn’t get a handle on the fact that my time to center and begin my day in a somewhat sane fashion was being taken away, seemingly to never return (ah…but all things change; nothing stays the same).
For awhile I spent every morning spitting and fuming and every day feeling lost, like I was missing something fundamental. And I was.
Ultimately though I had to change too. I had to go with this new flow–the new direction the river took that I wasn’t expecting (and didn’t want to go down).
So here I am writing at NIGHT! Night is so not my shining time. Morning is. My brain works only minimally at night–enough to help me find my pajamas and my bed, but that is about it. It doesn’t construct interesting sentences or tease out complex ideas.
And yet in showing up to my desk at almost 8pm, I got to look up and watch the sun set between two trees in my backyard (lined up perfectly between those trees like it wanted to nest there). And I’m in my pajamas. I don’t have coffee, which makes me feel a bit “off.” Perhaps I should try wine (if I can EVER get over these allergies). But there are 421 words on this page–even if they are more therapy than meaningful (not that those two things are mutually exclusive. I fully realize that they are not, but this is more rant than craft. That is what I mean).
While showing up and sunsets = evening/night writing, mornings have become spontaneous surprise. They all look different. I’ve found that I can cope more easily as long as I do something that centers me; it just now has to include Levi. Some mornings this looks like having him in our bed to read a book. On super early weekend mornings this might be TV in bed together. My favorite way of coping has been having him sit at my desk with me, and we “journal” together. The other morning Levi comes climbing up into my desk chair asking, “Can I work with you?” Insert bursting heart with fireworks here. “Yes, of course you can.” He has his own packet of paper that he “works” in, while I attempt to journal next to him (both of us smooched into a chair built for one). I cannot really focus on writing, as he wants me to look at each line he draws, but whatever I get on the page is just a bonus really (or at least that is how I am trying to see it). What the morning time lacks in solitary centering and progress in writing, it makes up for in preciousness and bonding time. And this too won’t last.