Wednesday, November 26, 2014

The Not-So-Restless Writer?

It was Sunday morning, nearing noon. The day was bright and blue, and I knew this because I could see it from my window at my desk. It dawned on me then, as I watched a cardinal hop around a tree outside, that I had been sitting at my desk for nearly three days straight - and even weirder - I was okay with this fact. It was a strange feeling, when I realized I had only been between school, home, and the gym for over a week. I looked at my royal blue Rav 4 sitting in the driveway, looking lonely, and I remembered the girl I used to be, not all that long ago.

In Miami, I couldn't go between point A and point B without stopping to take a quick dip in the ocean or meeting a friend for an impromptu walk or yoga session. I was the girl who always had a bathing suit, towel, high heels and a little black dress in my trunk. Oh, and my hula hoop, of course. I lived out of my car, quite seriously. I was on the m-o-v-e, all the time, and my car was my closest confidante.

My bicycle is my main form of transportation now. It takes me all the places I need to go: from my house to my office, from my office to the gym, from the gym back to my office, and from my office, home sweet home. Sometimes, I take my speedy two-wheeler for a spin around Lettuce Lake Park about a mile from my house.

My world has shrunk to a 1.5 mile radius. That is insanity to me.

What's even more insane is the fact that I couldn't be happier about this. To be honest, the nesting habits crept up on me, like a slow fog. It started with the clearing of the desk. And then the growing of the plants. Now I have bird friends outside my window everyday and it's as if, all of a sudden, I woke up in the clouds, and I never knew I was being lifted away.

But I guess this is the reason why I came to grad school, after all. To drop out of my life of chaotic excitement, and drop into a new, quieter one - one that strives for the beauty of authentic expression.

I spoke to my friend in Costa Rica last night. He's used to my spur-of-the-moment trips south.

"When are you coming back down here?" he asked. In the background, I can hear the sounds of the rainforest all around him.
"You know," I said. "I really don't know." Silence. "Things feel... different, now."
"Hmm," he said after a while. "Estas comprometida." Comprometida - to be engaged, committed.
"Yes, I think you're right. Estoy comprometida."
"Eso es bueno!" he said with a laugh. He's an artist too so he knows what it feels like to be on fire about your craft. He knows about this rabbit hole, he knows it well.

That Sunday afternoon, I could have sat at my desk all day. But, it felt sacrilegious to let such a perfect day slide by my window without getting out there and communing with the elements. I had to honor that other part of myself, the wild one. So I called up my friend Sarah and we made a date to watch the sunset on the beach. It felt strange to drive my car across the long bridge to St. Pete, weaving between traffic and listening to sugary pop songs on the radio. But it all made sense when I plunged into the cold waves, tinged pink from the setting sun, releasing my body to this saltwater altar.

A fellow free spirit