It is a quiet kind of day. I sent off the final documents that wrap up a project I was working on. It is hard to accept the quiet that follows as a good or peaceful thing. It is hard to accept it at all. Instead it feels haunting. Like I forgot something. Like I’ve been neglecting something.
It feels foreign and yet familiar. Open and yet closed. When disconnections like this occur, it feels nearly impossible to be in the moment. To choose to embrace spontaneity. And yet, I know if I stay here too long I will get stuck.
It almost feels like I did something wrong. I broke the rules. I did something different and it seems so strange. I crammed 25 hours of grant writing into 4 days– but I wasn’t attached. I wasn’t involved. The reality of the project never became my own reality. There were boundaries in place. There was respect and understanding. I could put the project away and rest easy at night. But now that it is done, I can tell the part of me that relied on the highs of working under pressure is disappointed. Perhaps feels the same as if an alcoholic went out one night and barely caught a buzz. It would feel like something was amiss. There is a term for this feeling. I know there is.
It is change. It is recovering. It is life. I’m just not aware of how big it is, yet.
“True life is lived when tiny changes occur.” Leo Tolstoy