Creative Pause

It’s OVER!! 

The big move.  Semi-retirement. “The Transition.”

Except it’s not.

After all the relocating, settling in, the blasting of social media with photos of our goodbye-ing and hello-ing, our old place then our new place, my surprisingly extroverted journey during this season of CHANGE!,  
                 
                      I'm 

                             suddenly 

                                               tired.

I so wanted to leap into the new like all the extroverted, happy transition-ers that have gone before me, re-home in record time and have everyone marvel at my ability to adjust.

Tsk. Tsk. When have I ever been like every one?

I smile now, remember the fantasy thoughts of it will be easy breezy, once ‘we got there.’ Once the goodbyes were over. Once we had a modern house.

And how glad I was leaving behind the lack of outlets, the chilly drafts, the dust, the constant repair/remodel needed in our almost 200yr old stone farmhouse of Pennsylvania! This new house is indeed lovely, but it has its idiosyncrasies: a petulant gas stove with burners that refuse to stay lit, an oven needing to be smacked, begged or coaxed to 450 degrees before it will bake or roast anything, a catty refrigerator that spits food out onto the floor no matter how carefully it’s balanced or loaded. 



Opening the frig door requires dance - stephop over a rolling cabbage, then swing your hip right to avoid a falling ketchup bottle. 

This house is so tight the garage entrance door BANGS shut whenever another door is opened. I’ve had seismic startles so epic the two full baths seem more necessity than luxury. 

The vacuum in the house gives interesting front door dynamics. I’ve greeted guests on the front porch by yanking, tugging, practically begging the front door to give, only to yell out the window, “Hold on, I have to open the back door before I can let you in!” This supports my theory that our front door, oven and fridge are all litter mates.

Oh, and add another brother- a hateful smoke detector that screams every time I cook.

No worries to those readers who knew the former owner of our new house. I adore this house, these grounds, and couldn’t be happier. There are just honeymoon periods and reality checks, ya know?

Truthfully, many parts of this move have been easy breezy. We love it here! Love seeing the wildlife, finding new farmer’s markets, theaters, music venues, gardens and parks. We enjoy meeting our neighbors. Everyone so far, is delightful. We’ve adjusted fairly quickly to a slower pace of life.   

Other things have been more painful: holidays without family, the distance from grandchildren, knowing where things are, (ha, as if I always knew before :), forty years of marvelous people connections and networks back in PA. New community doesn’t happen overnight; I struggle to be patient in finding a church, a hiking or birding club, where to train dogs, or find other farm/ranch/dog/nature enthusiasts.

I am often impatient while transitioning with my spouse too. The beauty here is incredible but beauty doesn't magically transform any unhelpful patterns of relating. The extra time and shoulder rubbing might have magnified a few! Even without the pressures of crop farming, we find the same personal and relational growing edges. 

The real reason for this rambling blog post (thanks, if you are still reading!) is to say: I'm realizing a transition of another type calling. My fatigue feels more soulful than physical. It’s time to allow my soul to catch up with the rest of me (quoting my brother, Don Clymer in The Spacious Heart) So, how will I be now?  How will I shape this new sense of freedom and space; how will I create, give to the world?

Will I give with disordered offerings, or with focus and intention?  

My soul has held a finger on a creative spot for a while. A spot that has always been restless, scattered, attracted to way too much.  It’s time to really pay attention and focus. After the grandchild care-giving, after the cleaning out, the packing up, the moving, the semi-retiring, my soul is ready to take off the pressure.  

The answer can’t be found mindlessly scanning Facebook (yes, I too procrastinate and compare myself there) or by throwing myself into projects or groups just to relieve the tension of deep listening, waiting, or discerning.

This may be a time of gestation, the quiet before the next creative storm. 

I plan to create and write more, but do so privately, not click share as quickly. I need to be less attentive to social media, more aware of what life is calling forth. Of how the Spirit woos, dances, co-creates with me. Sometimes I write for the quick fix, rather than saving myself for the hard stuff - the breath holding, panting, sweating, bleeding of hard writing, the kind that takes something from me and gives birth to something far more.   

To give myself such a creative pause, this blog will most likely go on sabbatical. Or it may spit and gurgle awkwardly, before flowing again. It may even die. I may resurface on another platform; I just don’t know.

Thank you, dear readers, for your generous reading and commenting over the years, for your support and patience as I develop as a writer.  

The only thing I can promise, for the future, is whatever arises from this pause, will be more truly me and offered wholeheartedly. 

Blessings, love and joy to you,
Sharon