Block

“What happened to your blog?”

A friend asked me that tonight, missing consistency and something to read perhaps so late at night.

“I have writer’s block” I responded, ideas have sat with me but nothing has been able to run down my fingers out of my head and into words on a page. I don’t really know what to write.

What am I feeling? I don’t know… I’m filling the space and I can’t hear what it said, in a relationship with my TV until I wander off to bed.

I feel like a rubberband stretched a bit to tight. Expanding myself to accommodate life. The pressure has run out, the novelty over, covid lifestyle pressing, the month’s have extend over. Dropping out of the effort of holding space for myself.

I picture that rubberband as myself, so stretched out beyond itself, that at rest it’s no longer circular, with too much to hold it’s name has changed to oblong, incapable now of being the thing it once was.

I want to be smaller, like a rubberband on braces, orthadoncha criteria, with a single purpose. So small nothing else can get in to its circular shape, but a child’s small finger as it gets set into place. Not meant to stretch out beyond its scope, the opposite of strength pulling teeth in its wake.

Sitting in front of my TV late at night when I have nowhere to be I talk to myself. The dog’s gone to bed, too hot for couch hugs, I have no space to entertain the thoughts in my head. No desire to listen as they clunk around making noise, hoping that they will fall silent by the time I’m in bed. Trapped without exit they stay jumbled up, waiting for release when I go in search for the key.

Riding my bike through this pandemic has been a godsend. Getting out to move my body with a group of new friends, my social recalibration has yielded true friends. Humor and laughter, trips with my tent, small doses of human interactions keeps me well fed. Light and and easy, curious too, I’m careful to keep them, hoping they’re true after time washes away the letters that spell N-E-W. Cautious by nature…I appreciate cheerleaders that keep me from hiding in a corner of self doubt.

Lifting, paddling, camping and dining with my “old and true” friends keeps me grounded in reality, how bad I need them. The few most important, tried and true over time, they are the ones who’ve gotten me through.

Biking itself presents quite a challenge, fear dresses up in a boogy man suit. He tempts me to look deep into his eyes and freak out about a cluster of rideable denial, distracting me off the bike and into a tree or perhaps a very thorny bush instead of powered through. Yet, there’s support from these people I call friends, telling me I bike better than I believe in myself, waiting for me to collect the sass within and finish hard things and long rides that I couldn’t by myself.

Work isn’t fulfilling like it usually is. Virtual reality takes the soul out of me. It had its place and its purpose, but it’s gone on so long, I feel like I’m not helping, I’m over the grueling let’s get this done. I’m overjoyed by in person visits and that I’m still remembered. I miss connections, cuddles and presence. I think my half hearted lack of a brain comes from missing my littles… and the feeling of purpose as it supports someone else.

I think I’m trying to cram activity into the circle to block out the void that the shape seems to be, instead of seeing it as it once was, open possibility. My block isn’t a lack of things to say, rather the denial of hunger for feeling returned to me.

I miss “normal” life going to work, connecting with my families and my kiddos, having a purpose. Blending the space of connection beyond work and weekends, back to friends coming over more often, talking with them instead of the TV. Not filling the void with distractions and worry, but remembering how to breathe and be open. Finding my voice instead of a block.