Often when I’m stuck with a piece I’m writing, I take a long walk. There’s something soothing to me about the motion of walking. It quiets my brain a bit. Actually, that’s not quite true. What happens is it allows my brain to splinter a bit. One part focuses on walking and is aware of the weather, the wind, the sounds, the colors of the leaves, but the other part of my brain floats free and thinks of stories or works on problems. Most of my writing happens while walking, and not at the computer at all.
Today, taking my dog around the block, I tried to think of things to blog about. I could write a bad poem about Thanksgiving, since that’s coming up. I could post some recipes. I could talk about narrating or my little company I’m working on. But nothing feels right. It’s not that I don’t have things to say. I do. And I have topics I want to write about and question, but not today.
Today, I am tired. Weary. Maybe it’s all the sadness happening in the world. Or maybe it’s this cold I’m fighting. Maybe it’s just that Sunday kind of blue where things feel heavy, my shoulders pulled down.
What I want most to do today, is to read a little bit. Curl up on the couch and take a nap. Cook some food. Help my kids with their homework. Coerce the kids to do something on their own so hubby and I can watch The Walking Dead. I just want to be home, and be quiet, and be wrapped in a cocoon of comfort.
There was no inspiration today on my walk. But not every day needs to be day filled with inspiration. Sometimes, just being is enough.