Downtime is Weird - Unfolding Space
In the coming days I have to prep for Texas. Now we're in the eye of the storm, and all my projects are still waiting. But there's no toggle switch - I can't just move over and pick up what's been tabled.
Downtime is weird, especially when there isn't much of it. There's some decompression happening, some unfolding of what was packed under pressure. It makes sense, of course, but I'd forgotten to plan for the unfolding when plotting out my life. And I should have known better: I've been unfolding for a year and a half out here in Annandale. I'd smoothed out some wrinkles and was cutting into the fabric to make something new, but I had to put it aside for the paycheck that keeps me free and legal.
I need to not start admonishing myself for "not getting more done." I am doing something - nothing is very much a thing that sometimes needs to be done. I already know what happens when I run off and start doing a thing half-cocked. It's hard to get used to the idea of apparent non-productivity being approved, but I approve it within reason. Be honest with yourself: you know full well when you've let the household chores pile up for too long. That's not the same thing as being able to be present for the project(s) you'd had to put aside - like this blog. Did you miss me?
Keeping all my projects out in a state of readiness has always been a dream of mine. I don't like having to put them away and get them back out, re-rearranging to start again where we left off. I've been looking for another work table to put in my cottage, though I'm not sure I can sacrifice the space.
There's a deeper lesson here and I'm trying not to find it, because I still have to go in and make a paycheck in a few minutes. The short version is this: when you're laying out your plans, remember to designate Unfolding Space. It's not a luxury; it's a necessity, like nitrogen.