The Lightness of Unburdening

Whew.  I should have written sooner.  Oh yes, I journal privately, but publicly laying out ones soul somehow makes it really take flight off of you and into thin air.  Written down in the bundled books that litter my shelves (different journals for different perspective recording) the words linger and slither around the room, tumbling under corners of my living area and tripping me up from time to time.  Released into cyberspace, those words of burden seem to become lighter than air – perhaps becoming ether itself.

I have taken nearly two years off from public writing but continued to journal privately and sporadically.  Oh, I started and sputtered a couple of times when something would enliven my heart, but the ability to write soon died within me. That wall usually came when I faced yet another loss or setback and had to once more grimly set my jaw and continue to carry on, when what I really longed for were those days of yore when one could lie abed in a state of melancholy and it be acceptable.  People may whisper about you behind your back, or murmur the words behind gloved hands “She’s taken abed again in one of her spells, you know…” but somehow that was allowed for then.  In today’s world, heaven forbid you even take a sick day unless you’re literally on death’s door, hanging about the corridor of a clinic or hospital.  What ever happened to the concept of mental health days?  Oh yes, those are called ‘vacation days’.  All of the days I’ve wanted to snatch a mental health day weren’t even for depressing purposes.  Sometimes you just get up and the day is so beautiful, the sky that perfect kid-summer-blue, a gentle breeze tickling your skin, that you just want to stamp your foot and say “Today I want to shuck off adulthood, responsibility, dependability and simply BE.”  Yes, we need adult hooky days where we can lay down the knapsack of whatever it is that actually qualifies us for the unlikely moniker of ‘adult’ and skip across the day with delight. That knapsack will still be there when we are done smelling the old growth roses, or watching lizards leap and marveling that they never splat or break  in two, or running barefoot through the dewy grass.

I want to thank a couple of other bloggers out there for kick starting my internal hum and bringing it to the forefront even though the actual POST that I wrote earlier this week flat-out disappeared into the ether.   Brenna over at for encouraging me to begin writing again in any fashion.  Lonerwolf’s site, for again highlighting what is good about introspection and introversion.  And some old friends and a new friend who have encouraged me, nudged me and prodded me back into writing.

Always before when I was writing, there was something going on,  something new on the horizon or some experience I had passed through or was anticipating.  This time I’m writing from just a state of being.  I’m on a path to somewhere, I simply don’t know yet where it is the path is going to end up.  I may dawdle when I should take a step forward.  I may rush forward when I should actually stand still and listen.  And if my gracefulness is still the same non-existent thing it always has been, most likely I’ll trip and tumble and end up on an alternate path for a while too.  All of these are acceptable to me right now.  I’m growing. I’m learning and unlearning.  I’m traveling.

“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.”
― C.S. LewisThe Weight of Glory

Here’s to good traveling weather and fine companions along the road.


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