(This post is reblogged from MyCakeFace: Random Bloggery by AJ Bradley)
This is what my backpack looks like after it's been
I haven't written. I haven't been to the beach, or the park, or the woods.
I pace around the house feeling restlessly exhausted: too fidgety to sit still, too tired to do anything.
Every day, I pull up the files of pictures from the trip, like a broken-hearted adolescent stalking her ex's facebook page. I marvel at the wondrous things I saw, experiences I had, food I ate, smells, sounds, ice-cold fingers in Prague, and italian driving induced panic-sweats in Positano. I smile, for awhile. And then I feel, drained. I close the files more sad than before I'd opened them. I think maybe I'll take a nap, but my eyes won't stay closed.
I know what I need to do. I need to do the same thing I did the last time I had to pull myself out of a depression. I remind myself of those old mantras:
Don't think, just do.
Fake it till you make it.
So, today I unpacked the last few unessentials still camping out in the bottom of my pack. My toiletries bag, my electricity converter, my well-used compass. I lovingly oiled the zippers and cut off the airline tags. Then I put my backpack in my closet (NOT back out in the garage).
I came out to the living room and kissed my son. We went out on the deck and planted the garlic bulb my mom brought back with us from Rome. It will grow, here in Canada, and we'll eat garlic that came from Italy, here in Canada. We'll go to the beach, to the park, to the woods. We'll see wondrous things, have amazing experiences, eat, smell, and hear the beauty of home.
I'll get back to writing (starting with this blog post).
I won't think, just do. And, eventually, as before: I won't be faking it at all.
|My mom and BoyChild at White Rock Beach, Canada|