A lot has happened in the six months since I last wrote here. Six months of moving, relocating, readjusting.
And I love it. I went for a trail run today, disappearing into the quiet of Big Gulch, a local trail system. It was drizzling. With each footfall the road got rougher and muddier and my senses expanded dramatically: I heard the stream to my left as it tumbled and shooshed over its rocky bed, the wind in the pines, the birds’ furtive calls; I felt the cool air burn my lungs, the drizzle touch my face, my feet squish into the muddy track; and everywhere I saw a natural world that bordered and sometimes crossed into my dreams of an elemental existence. I felt like stripping off everything and running on all fours, fingers and toes gripping the leafy soil, a primal yell tearing from my throat. I think next time I’ll settle for running barefoot.
The kids are settling in wonderfully. They are for the most part oblivious to the cold. Although Kaia has said a few times, “I miss California, dad. It’s warmer down there.” She misses it for other reasons, too. We all do.
The day it snowed (read: dusted the ground), the kids were ecstatic. They ran out into the parking lot of the apartment (the only place the snow stuck) and scraped the snow into little round balls, packing them together with their useless woolen gloves, and hurling them at me with glee. Kaia, momentarily suspending her desire for warmth, dropped to the blacktop and made a perfect snow angel. Her first.
I feel compelled to write again in a big way. I want to write about myself, about others, about facts, about fiction, about worlds that are in my head begging to get out. I’ve been feeling this way for a while and a recent challenge from a former writing group partner has finally overcome the inertia. I am now rolling forward back into the writerly lifestyle, which, much to Denette’s chagrin, will certainly mean more time at coffeehouses and occasions when I must be alone.
It’s interesting: I’ve heard and read many other authors insist that being uncomfortable helps them write. It’s as though the creative process is driven by angst. I’m precisely the opposite. Angst and uncertainty might give me story material, but I write best when I feel safe and secure. Even if it’s about things that contain angst or uncertainty.
I have immensely more to write. I also have a morning workout schedule to keep. 5AM. I feel great once I’ve started.