It’s actually going to be nice here in the Northwest this weekend, and I plan to be deeply out in it. We’ve had this summer that just refuses to start, and this weekend temps are scheduled to soar to the mid-70’s.
And I will be nowhere near my computer.
Lately, I’ve been thinking there’s a time for everything, and if you do things in their right time (sleeping at night, working during the day instead of procrastinating), it decreases a great deal of anxiety. It sounds obvious, but much of my life I’ve fought off what was actually happening at the moment. I’ve fought off working when it was time to work (you know, checking email, facebook, the fridge–that sort of thing), but I also fought off play. In the late 80’s I went to a Prince concert in Oakland. It was pretty cool….it wasn’t the Purple Rain tour but he hadn’t changed his name to that onyx-looking symbol yet. Oakland is a great place to see a concert. I was with friends. I should’ve been right into it. But weirdly my head was with my stupid thesis that I’d been writing-delaying-writing, and this cloud of Oh-God-I-have-so-much-to-do. It was a Tonight-We’re-Gonna-Party-like-it’s-1999 sort of night, and in my head it was October 1929, moments after the big crash.
Not long after that I finally finished my dreaded thesis and got a job teaching in Utah. The black-leggings, nose-in-book period of my MA was officially over and so were my 20’s, almost. I suddenly realized that I’d spent the last three years working or thinking I should be working. Even though I was being “productive,” I’d missed out on some living. I decided that year I was going to do some living, and in the next few months I did just that. I caught my first (small) fish; I rode on the back of my friend Nancy’s motorcycle, I flew in a
two-seater plane over Zion Canyon and took on the role of International Club Adviser at the two-year college where I taught (which involved all sorts of things the bookish me would never have time for–like creating a float for the Homecoming Parade and bowling).
There’s a time for writing and there’s a time for living. And this blisteringly hot weekend (72 degrees!), I intend to live.