I've had the compulsion today toward writing, catching up. Perhaps even taking the plunge and committing myself to the craft I used to identify with so well. I give up on it like every other self-doubting artist, sacrificing creativity for perfection, which can never be achieved or even approached without mistake. So here I go.
Lots of catching up on life to do, but it's hardly necessary. The point is that I'm probably happier than I've ever been. Living in the Black Hills now, gaining the weight of a progressing second pregnancy that delights me in ways I was unaware of or held back from with the first. I feel more close to myself and not like some anomaly of nature. I feel closer to nature, even though I spend most of my days inside while the sun shines brightly through the windows and the pines whisper my name. It was kind of silly to move to such a remote, Northern place in late autumn, but a large part of me needed a cut off, really needed a reason to stop and breathe. I've been immersed in school work, trying to make much needed progress on my nursing degree, taking the plunge off of the double-edged sword of that commitment, not really knowing how it will balance but trusting in my huge faith that it will.
So for once in my life, I'm okay with being a little hen all cooped up. In my hometown I was so lost. I didn't feel like a mother hen at all. I felt like a rat, running and sniffing around for the next opportunity with no real agenda, just a fear of not looking busy. Now I can just sit around and fluff my feathers and keep myself warm to incubate this egg. I feel broody and proud. For once in my life, I feel safe.