Working 60+ hours a week until you turn 40 years old, puts you on a train from which it is difficult to disembarque! All stops flew by!
One would think that there would be a heavy sigh of relief, not the mental hysteria of:
What do I do? I have so much time to fill! I'm not used to having this much "space" in my life!
I had to be stopped and FORCED to be with myself.
Stopping was never a choice I made. Movement and doing made me feel alive. But somewhere in there; I lost important parts of me.
During that month, I was homebound and stuck on the first floor of Columbus Street. Mom was with me in the beginning. Friends came by regularly to check on me and see if I needed anything.
I couldn't drive, ride in a car, lift anything heavy, or go up and down stairs. I lived completely on the first floor of Columbus Street (acutally, not unlike today).
I learned to ask for help. I learned to let people come to me. I learned to enjoy the forced spaces in my life, that were not of my making.
I read. I worked on my novel. I cooked. And, I have a very vivid memory of sitting outside in the back yard writing in the sunshine.
I thought about how nice it would be to have MORE vacation time.
But, at the end of my month I got right back on that train.
Choo-choo...running like a crazy person...stations flying by in a blurr; but I was doing important work and getting things DONE!
I'd only gotten my feet wet.