If you’re a writer, I’m guessing you have peaks and valleys, periods when it seems easy to do the work and intervals of stasis.
When in the midst of the former, everything seems right with the world. About the times of stoppage, a feeling of panic seeps in, as in, will I ever write again?
Last week, I was traveling to take care of a family matter, so I did not write for six days, April 7 through April 12. This journey, to Florida from my home in Iowa, was to begin my responsibility as the executor of my late brother Peter’s estate and to attend his and his wife, Pamela’s, funeral and inurnment. Pete died in January, and Pam last September.
Every day, I met kind and generous people who had cared for them, including the hospice nurses who had been with my brother the moment he drew his last breath.
Early each morning, during my typical writing time, I instead sat in the motel’s breakfast room, readying myself for the day by observing and occasionally talking with the other patrons. I was mostly content to be and not do.
Today, thinking back and writing about this time, I wonder why peaks seem more natural than valleys and thus less to be feared.
Stasis is defined as an equilibrium of forces, which, for an animal, produces a state of rest. An example is a bear hibernating during the winter. (source)
The melancholy of mourning produces a torpor that respects the unspoken feelings of loss, until they can be acknowledged.
The view, from down here, is nothing to fear.
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