Centering and writing

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Duck Dodgers

Mike and I used to watch Duck Dodgers together because geeks. It was a slightly more grown up cartoon, one whose slapstick humor had carefully interwoven adult references and wordplay. In one episode, The Eager Young Space Cadet, (essentially Porky Pig) was flipping out about something. Dodgers replied, Find your center, honey-baked. Both Mike and I thought it was hysterical, and have since used the line on one another when we’re completely stressing out about something.

It has been nice, today, to be able to have a calm, centering day. Saturday, we had people over to watch our beloved Hokies lose yet another came. Sunday, Mike and I went to see Ender’s Game. Rachael was out of school on Monday and Tuesday for parent teacher conferences and the election. Seriously, watching election returns come in is really stressful when you feel like the fate of the privacy of your uterus and vagina is hanging on who will be your next governor. (And I still can’t totally relax because the attorney general race is still too close to call.)

But today. Today has been one of those quiet days where it’s warm enough to open the windows and let the breezy November air fill your house. I took Zoë for a walk so she and I could get some exercise. As we walked, I noticed something. I was absorbing everything: the colors; the sounds; the smells; how everything felt. I was mentally taking notes as I took the time to simply be in the moment. Maple trees were so red that they looked as though their color had been saturated in a photo editor. The wind created music through wind chimes and scattering dried leaves. The leaves covered the ground and beckoned Zoë to search among them for the beautiful ones, which she collected like jewels. Fallen, open pine cones mocked me for not having been patient enough to wait to collect them.

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Asshole

I have found, regardless of whether my writing is on par with classic literature or pure garbage, that writing has been very cathartic for me. (Classic literature probably used “fuck” much more artfully than I.) But I realized today that the writing process isn’t just sitting down to the computer and typing something out. It starts when I observe my world. Think about it. Savor it. Connect with it. Think about how I can share it with others so they may connect with it as well. When I think about those words and images, I become very calm and centered. It’s a feeling I can carry with me for awhile, like being enveloped in a warm blanket. But eventually the warmth cools, and I start to look for what is next.

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