A time of blank space

“Now has come, an easy time.”

It is not enough to be busy. What are you busy about? - Thoreau

“Now has come, an easy time. I let it roll.” - William Stafford

A client recently referred to her now as “a time of blank space.” I bowed my head, grateful for the insight and her way with words.

What is it about the blank space that intimidates? There is pressure here - pressure to fill it Perhaps you know the feeling: the conversation comes to a lull and the feeling that you have to say something. Not one for chit chat, this sense that I have to fill it with something good.

I’ve been feeling that way about writing as of late. What good do I have to say?

“I’ve been so busy,” comes up, as it does with us all. And there is my trusty Thoreau: what am I busy about?

It is not busy so much. I think of my dad here and one of our favorite quotes: the difference between the right word and the wrong word is the difference between lightning and lightning bug.

Attentive, rather. Accompanying my daughter as she closes the chapter of her life called middle school. Stepping back some. Giving her space to create, to coordinate, to adjust. Last night in my dream, she was walking down a road with friends and they took their own turn while I stayed on the road above. And they were arm in arm. Going.

My daughter leaves for camp tomorrow - a month away. A month when she gets to sing as much as she’d like. Singing with other kids who love it too. This is probably the part I’m most excited about for her: being in the company of other theater kids. Other kids who eat, sleep, and dream in musicals. I’m nervous for her but something tells me that “maybe this time” (hey, Liza) she’ll embrace the experience. She’s ready for something more than home right now.

And home will be mine. This time next week, I’ll finally have had knee surgery and will be recuperating. Months later. Months of waiting, waiting, waiting…..I too feel ready. It’s as if it is happening exactly when it should.

Of course it is. A smile here.

Of course it is time for new notebooks. As is my practice, a poem. I recently treated myself to a book of William Stafford’s poems. His “Why I am Happy” is my poem for now.

“Now has come, an easy time. I let it roll.”

Hello, Now.

This morning, I let it roll. The spirit moves me. To write here and reflect. Now. Here. In the kitchen, in my pajamas, with coffee and the door open, accompanied by the breeze and laundry pens to label clothes soon to be packed into duffels. The poems of William Stafford and dreams of library books I’ll gather later for my forthcoming convalescence.

“I know where it is.” I do. Beautiful and messy and timely. Full and sometimes blank.

Now. Hello.