Home delivery

DSC01502.jpg

No more home delivery. No more mail person clomping up my porch steps. No more familiar ting of the metal lid being lifted and dropped. I don’t receive a lot of hand-written letters these days, but I get a lot of mail, and not the junk kind, either. I’m self-employed, and most cheques for my speaking and writing work arrive in my mailbox, often unexpectedly. Gazing out my office window, it always cheers me to see the mail person marching along the sidewalk, with our stack of letters in her hand. So. So? Maybe it’s just a luxury to expect my mail to be delivered at the door. Maybe it is. But it makes me sad to know that this delivery system for communication is vanishing.

I’m facing off against Girl Runner today; that’s not a good way to frame it, but truth is, doubt is plaguing me. The only way to make this anxiety go away is to do the work. I know that. Why is it so hard to begin?

Reassuring words from Kevin, to get me going this morning: Once you get started you will find your pace, just like running. Your personality is that you get better and faster the longer you go.

True. I gain confidence over the long haul. I gain resistance to pain. I shed fear, or it shuts down, somehow, and doesn’t matter. I’m talking about my experience as a runner, but I’m also talking about writing. About anything, really. About being a mother. About being a friend.

DSC01504.jpg

Was I ever grumpy this morning. Broken zipper on snow pants discovered at the last minute, digging through the attic for another pair, bitter cold pouring through the opened front door as the impatient child waited for her little brother. But I’m not grumpy because of that. I’m grumpy because my mind is elsewhere, edging toward questions and solutions, big questions, elusive solutions.

I’m grumpy, maybe at least a little, because I went out with my siblings last night, stayed out rather late, did not object to another pitcher being ordered, and then set my alarm and went for an early run this morning (with a friend; if I hadn’t been meeting her, I would have stayed in bed).

I’m grumpy because I know what I need to do, and I’m afraid of failing.

I’m grumpy because I’m afraid of failing.

Shouldn’t I know better? It’s not failing I should fear. It’s inertia.

Mash-up anxiety dreams
A little taste of letting go

5 Comments

  1. All through reading this I had your last written word in my mind: inertia. Exactly. Sometimes it seems that our mass varies from day to day. But to me, always better once moving, and better for having moved.

    Reply
    • I got moving and, lo, it was better!

      Reply
  2. I know that, for me, intertia is what holds me back, every time. The days when I hit the ground running are the ones where the most, and the best, gets done.

    Also, I have to add, your pictures make me homesick, but in a good way. Look at that snow!

    Also II, now I’m kind of sorry I replaced my mailbox.

    Reply
    • Would happily deliver at least half of this snow to you, Nath. And quite a lot of the cold, too. It’s bitter out there!

      Reply
    • No more Home Delivery..
      i can see snow..waiting for removing that snow

      Reply

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *