I spent an unusual amount of time on Sunday staring into my closets.
Before last week’s vacation, I considered using my abundant free time sans job, husband and kids creating content. I briefly entertained the idea of churning out stories, blog posts, videos and more of the digital ephemera that seems to represent my creative vocation at present.
Instead, I created space.
If I had to describe my life in one word on July 1, it would have to be “cluttered.” Or if I were being more generous and kinder to myself than I typically am, I’d have described it as “full.”
“Full of what?” was the question I spent a week answering. A big part of the answer was “useless junk, stuff that would be better off in someone else’s house, and outright trash.”
In clearing out the aforementioned junk, as usually happens, I found some good stuff I’d lost or forgotten. As also usually happens, addressing and clearing out literal, physical junk lead to a lot of addressing and clearing out mental, spiritual and emotional junk.
So Sunday, I spent a little time just staring at the space I’d opened up. Surveying it. Relishing it.
I think I was enjoying the brief moment of limitless possibility that exists between pulling out the empty sheet of paper, and the first stroke of the pen.