I feel whooped. Purposefully keeping a low-to-moderate schedule means freedom and flexibility are prioritized—until recently, when Evelyn’s baseball practice and Cub Scouts added three days of to-dos to the week, along with the social costs.
It’s funny how much I wanted this for Evelyn, and in the same breath… I, as in me, don’t.
It’s not that serious, I know. The sacrifices won’t be forever. And maybe in the future we won’t have horseback riding, baseball, homeschool co-op, and Scouts all running at the same time. Oh—and there’s the ultrasound for my neck this week, the kitten’s vet appointment, dentist appointments, and Archie’s annual checkup.
I’d prefer my writing time to be a space for rejuvenation, so how about I focus on the not-to-dos? The to-be. Or… just be.
The word “be” reminded me of a joke—decent enough to tell here, I suppose. I went next door to ask for twelve of their bees. They said of course, but when I counted there were thirteen. When I looked up to protest, they said, “There’s a free bee in there.”
Hardie, har, har.
Running was really hard today. Two and a half miles felt like floating in a river upstream in a rickety old wooden boat. I could feel every bump, and to keep it steady, I had to white-knuckle the wheel. I want every day to feel easy—to feel like those magical, angels-in-the-outfield, floating-above-the-pavement days.
And silly me—they’re not.
Within the first few pitter-patters of my feet, I threw out my game plan. The chug, chug, chug of my mind and body knew today wasn’t my day. And honestly, in the spirit of keeping morale up, that’s a win.
To just do the thing is enough, it turns out.
In between writing that and now, I finished part one of the documentary on Paul Reubens—the man who created and played Pee-wee Herman. He hasn’t addressed the elephant in the room about his arrests yet, but since this was filmed as a kind of final conversation before he died, I’m guessing he will. For now, I’m impressed with his creativity and ambition.
Alright, it’s late, and my body is ready for a big snooze-ola.
Later.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 