Well, we moved home from camp last weekend, and I’m exhausted from all the packing and unpacking and feeling generally unsettled. This is the moment when it’s really hitting me that I’m no longer a teacher and am a full time writer. School actually started almost two months ago, but while I was at camp, I just carried on with my normal summer routine. Now that I’m home, where I’ve never been all day, every day, except for brief school vacations, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. There are zillions of projects staring me in the face that I’ve never had time to do, like organize my files and straighten out the bathroom closet and stuff like that. There is also the ongoing stress of settling my late mother’s affairs (joys of being an only child). But I’m going to try to regulate all that to a few hours a day, and try to spend the rest writing, reading, going for walks, and taking lots of photos.
I’m feeling a little displaced — I miss camp: lake, kayaking, swimming, sunsets, peregrine falcons just down the cliff, spectacular thunderstorms, everything permeated with the sound of waves on the shore. I love being home: warmth, convenience, mountain views, bird feeders, soft silence everywhere. I miss my students and fellow teachers at school. I miss feeling like I’m making a difference in kids’s lives. But I like sleeping later and not having to face a long, dark, often icy drive. I’m looking forward to being more of a part of seasons changing, being outside, and putting my energy into my words again. I’m in excellent health, my family is healthy, our two kittens are thriving, and we are first on the list to adopt a puppy next spring. My husband’s band is going places. And my friends all still seem to like me.
And so, back to writing.