I am grateful for the privilege to do what I want. I am not talking only of financial freedom, but of emotional and physical freedom as well.

I have spent this past weekend in Vancouver,  ‘filling my cup’ while my husband was at his curling bonspiel on the Sunshine Coast (doesn’t that sound so very Canadian?)

Anyway. This meant going to movies (loved Hugo the best out of the three I saw), the library, writing, reading, walking, visiting friends and napping.

People. I napped! It was wonderful.

Now. I don’t want to give the impression that Kevin stops me from doing any of these things, because I do all of this stuff on a fairly regular basis (except for that nap thing, but I’m thinking I could be on to something there).

The difference was that there were huge long gaps with no one here at all.

I realize more and more how much I need that solitude. It is like a long drink of water. Lovely stuff. And lovely for the very reason that it is limited, and that I know I have my ‘couple’ life waiting for me.

As a result I really got some writing done. I’m not going to say great writing. I’m going to say I kept going and that’s all I can hope for right now. In fact, I renamed the whole project to help with the fear factor. It is now an official file called, A Shitty Mess But That’s Okay. It’s definitely less intimadating. Most assuredly.

Which brings me back to being grateful for the time and space to do this.  I read something that really made this clear. I picked up an old book from the library called Views from the Loft – A Portable Writer’s Workshop and read this interview where this question was asked,

“Do you think there are things in a poet’s life that slaughter, either temporarily or permanently, the creative spirit? How is it regained or healed?

A poet named Deborah Keenan replied (italics are mine),

“Of course…I know…fantastically gifted artists, who because of struggles with depression, or cruelties inflicted on them..are stopped int their tracks and have to do enormous amounts of personal work to survive and return again to their creative lives. For many of us, the death of an important person…stop us. I had no interest in writing after my mom’s death. I didn’t write for almost three years. It is a privilege to end up in a life where one can make art and can continue making art. Those of us who have received this privilege because of the sheer assignments of fate are lucky to be able to regain our strength and talent, lucky to be able to heal and return to the blessed work of making a poem.”

I know it is said we make our own luck. Part of me believes that. But I also know ‘stuff’ happens. We can so easily get sidelined by this thing called Life. So.  When it’s all working?

Rejoice! Be Grateful! Create Something! Whether that thing is a better relationship, some cookies, a new connection or a poem…just do it.

Let’s practise celebrating life. It’s a good thing.