Time is not my enemy.

But sometimes it feels like it is.

I’ve been (ever so slowly) reading a book called The Lazy Genius.

It’s full of really great stuff. Practical help. Emotional help. All the in between help.

The author talks about the seasons of our lives – raising little babies, empty nest, new careers, frequent moves, crisis, whatever it might be for you. And she also talks about the seasons we actually live in here on earth – you know them, fall, winter, etc.

She suggests that, instead of constantly battling against the one we’re in when we find ourselves in our least favorite of seasons, we should lean into the season, recognize its short-lived nature and appreciate what can be appreciated about it.

There’s also a bit about remembering what it is we like about ourselves or a particular season, what makes us feel like our actual selves. (It’s hard to write a sentence like that one without using the accurate but annoyingly cliche buzz words of our time – authentic selves and such.)

And I haven’t exactly felt like myself of late.

I’ve felt rushed and off balance and a tad exhausted. I’ve felt angry and disappointed and foggy.

I don’t know what happened in October. Or where it went. Or why.

When I sat with my brain for a millisecond (which is all either my brain or myself could handle) I realized that it’s been a pell mell season. (Is that a phrase? Whatever.) And in October two of the things that I did not do that I normally do, two of the things that bring me joy and rest and balance and hope and normalness for me I did not seem to do. And those two things are reading and writing.

I didn’t finish a single book in October. I barely picked up one. You can see there have been zero new posts on this website for the entire month. And I pretty much made also zero book writing progress.

I can’t explain why. I didn’t make time for it. I ignored my self-directed structures to fit them both in. I think I underestimated how valuable both are to me, to my mental well being, to my sense of self.

November finds me questioning a few choices, wondering why I operate the why I do. It has me grateful for friends and family. It has me embracing a second puppy who deserves her own post because of her dangerous cuteness.

November has me anxious about the speedy slide into the holidays and the pressure I place on myself to savor and delight and create and celebrate. It also has me sitting outside in the bright sunshine of fall and remembering that I need books and words if I expect to lead the people inside my home well.

Here’s to a new day. A different season. A reminder to make space for the activities that make me me.

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