I'm back from my week off. It's good to see you. Yes, you.
I can't say I'm exactly entirely refreshed and rearing to go, but I did gain something remarkable valuable, the space to be bored. In the vacuum of all expectations dropping away, I found myself at a loss for what to do. Amidst the mental cacophony of shoulds I settled into some overdue Netflix binging (Outlander was excellent, btw).
What it highly fulfilling? In a way, yes. I was able to move some stuck grief around my divorce, and notice a number of cobwebs in corner's I'd forgotten. But most importantly, I felt a longing grow. A longing for my process. A longing to confront myself on the page, at the synthesizer, in the eyes of others.
Like slipping into a pair of old boots, my feet know this leather, I know these paths. Having not worn them for a while, if I find a blister after a long walk, it's good to remember that they couldn't possibly fit better. Friction at the beginning is a part of the process.