The world outside is frozen solid. Everything is white as far as the eye can see, including the sky. If the trees could shiver, they’d be shivering.
It’s really, really quiet, too. Car tyres are muffled on the frosty roads. Birds are too busy trying to survive to make even the smallest peep. People are mostly indoors, so the usual babble and chatter you’d expect isn’t there. All in all, it’s a good moment to try to remember to be Zen. However, I’m too busy trying not to panic at the thought of going out later and possibly losing my footing on a slippery pavement, or whether we have enough food to last the day.
Yes. I would literally worry about anything.
Thinking of characters and stories and worlds, and incubating them long enough for them to take root and settle into a workable shape and consistency, and then – eventually – writing them down, is a time-, sanity- and heart-consuming thing. It not only takes effort and dedication, but also one important element: internal balance. I mean, it’s hard to write effectively if you’re worried, or stressed, or sick. I’ve been having a bad run of worry, stress and sickness for the past couple of months, and it has really impacted my work. Not only in terms of my ability to put words on a page (though I’ve been battling through regardless), but also my peace of mind, my self-belief, my future planning, my vision of what my career might be.
So. A white world outside the window is a fine reminder that this is all okay. Sometimes, things are quiet. Sometimes, it seems like not a lot is happening when in reality, it’s all going on beneath the surface. It’s a time to realise that not everything needs to happen all at once, all the time, and that a fallow period after a time of busyness is perfectly okay – so long as it doesn’t go on forever. This is one of the reasons why I love living in a country where we have seasons, where we can see winter happening, and where its lessons can be hammered home year after year after year.
Because, yes. I am continually falling into the same fear-spirals, and forgetting how I fought my way out of them the last time. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?
Going at any creative endeavour with a mind and heart full of pressure and stress is a recipe for disaster. So, I’m going to take a few deep breaths of the cold, frosty air, feel the crunch of snow under my boots, and come back refreshed and full of renewed appreciation for how lucky I am.
And then I’m going to get back to work.