It’s been a week of hits and misses. After all the fixing and mending in July, I started August thinking that the month would unfold with clockwork predictability and precision.
Of course, no such thing happened. For various unconnected reasons, faraway or long unseen family and friends have been dropping in (and will be dropping in) this month and wreaking pleasant havoc. While the reunions have been cheerful and festive occasions, they’ve also been highly disruptive and thereby exhausting.
(Just to clarify things before my faraway and long unseen family and friends start accusing me of misanthropic tendencies: my current career has me maintain a 90-hour work week without weekends. These circumstances don’t diminish my affection in any way—they just sap the energy required for its expression.
All of which is frankly another reason why I’ve become a staunch advocate of people staying where they are and not moving around too much—a topic I start talking about in my previous post. There’s far less urgency in dropping everything and rearranging your life if the people you need to see live just around the block—or at least live in the same metropolis.)
If there’s anything I’m grateful for, it’s that some of the psychic work I did in July has actually begun to pay off. There’s been surprisingly little self-flagellation over the unwritten blog posts and missed yoga sessions and late night indulgences of Arnott’s Double Coat Tim Tam (a highly disruptive Australian present from my visiting older brother that dispels much of my end-of-the-day exhaustion). Maybe I just don’t have the energy to spare for the self-remonstration. Maybe I’m getting the hang of letting go. Or maybe, goodness gracious, I’m actually mellowing down.
Whatever the cause is, I’m simply grateful. Because there’s still two thirds of the month to go.