Amongst the flood of content online, and teeming in shops and on billboard and through the soundwaves, it can sometimes feel like everyone in the world is moving forward with unwavering purpose, while your own life hangs suspended on a moment. No matter how many times we say “rest is important”, or see the evidence of seasons unfolding around us, our culture of hustle is like a sickness. We are addicted to comparison in metrics of productivity. Yet so much of the magic happens in the places we don’t see. Here is some micro fiction inspired by the season:
I walked out today to a dry and hazy world. It’s been weeks since it rained. Ice encases the dead grass each morning. It’s burning season, so above the golden lifeless fields lie wreathes of smoke. As the sun crawled up from the trees and into the sky, I sat on the couch and played with my toddler. I rolled shapes out of clay as Cat in the Hat played on the TV. My daughter sat beside us at her little craft table, making tiny dolls. I didn’t feel driven or inspired. I had half a dozen projects on the go without any idea of how to move them forward. I made another cup of coffee while another episode of Cat in the Hat loaded. What if I am never anything more than this? Just a person who spends time with people she loves, who knows what her favorite snack is and just how to fix it, someone who measures the days by the sun? Would that really matter so much at all? What if this day is in fact a life so wonderful it’s beyond my wildest imaginings? Maybe my whole world is holding its breath, just waiting for my imagination to catch up.