The past several months have felt choppy and unsettled in many ways, but blissful in so many others. I've been job hunting for what feels like forever now, and struggling with not having a regular routine or a settled sense of even the near future. Recently, I have several job leads, and it feels like my life is about to change. Again. When that happens, I'll be relieved and happy to have some security and a new horizon to explore; but there's no question that it will be a hard adjustment after such a long period of freedom.
This morning, I woke up feeling so grateful for these months when my time has been flexible, when I could sink into the space of my home, the routines of my own work, when I could follow the pull of my thoughts. The freedom to put down my work and pick up a book, knowing that there's time later to come back to the work. I lay in bed listening to the crows squabbling on the roof, smelling the cold air from the window, and thought how lucky I've been to have this time: how lucky I am to have it still, even if it's only for a little while longer. When I have a job, I know that I'll start to live differently, to compartmentalize my thoughts, to ration my time carefully. I know that my relationship to my home will become more functional and less intimate; I won't see the little things so closely. So today I'm grateful for this peaceful morning, sitting on my couch. Writing this, and stopping to watch the steam curl off the mug of black coffee by the window. Listening to the low electric hum of appliances, smelling the faint odor of scorched dust off the heater, and admiring the way the light falls on the blonde wood of my work table.