I was whining to myself this morning about all the work I have to get done. Whining. Complaining. Worrying. Resisting. Maybe I’ll just lay here in bed a little longer.
Two blog pieces to write and post. A coaching session to read and prepare for. Camp Nanowrimo and my book revision to work on. A day-long writing workshop to finish preparing for and teach. A proposal I am working on.
I have bit off more than I can chew, I think. Did this to myself, I think. I took all this on, created it, and now I am freaking out about getting it done.
I stop resisting and get out of bed. I do my morning routine. In the midst of making coffee, my last step before getting into my writing, I stop.
I stand at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded.
I am looking at this the wrong way round. All I have learned, all I am writing about, and here I am. Wrong Way Round.
I created this writing and creating and teaching, and now I am complaining because the Universe has given it to me. I am seeing this as a burden. No. Wrong. These are gifts.
Because of the things I have created, I get to spend today writing, imagining, and playing with words and ideas. And then I get to share the words that I love in my blog. A gift.
The rest of this week: I get to read about and then talk creativity with a fellow creator. Connect with other writers at Camp Nanowrimo while I play with my book. Spend two whole days reading and preparing, then writing and talking writing with a room full of writers and creators. Play with possibilities for my proposal. All gifts.
I get to be in what I love all week long. Open the gifts I have created for myself. Sit like a kid at Christmas, surrounded by toys, deep in play. Writing. Writing. Writing. A gift.
Happy Christmas!
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Mentioned in this post:
Camp Nanowrimo http://campnanowrimo.org
