It’s grey cloud outside. We’ve had rain for two days. A good thing. We need it. The land is too dry for mid-May and we have a summer yet to move through, and wells we rely on.
I’ve been busy all week, creating, writing, making plans. Playing with possibilities. Daydreaming. Enjoying all of this. Everything in full colour.
And now this morning, here I sit noticing how I feel like the colour of the grey clouds outside. I can blame it on the weather. I know that sunny days boost my energy and my mood. Sunny day equals sunny Cat. This is not a sunny day.
I know what is going on.
It’s not the rainy weather.
The full-on creating has drained my well. I’m running into a drought.
I have a well of creativity within me that I use. All week I have been creating, playing with my possibilities, pulling water from my well. Good. It is meant to be used. All good.
What I forgot to do was refill my well after pulling from it. Yes, too busy being busy.
My creativity is a balance. I imagine and write and draw, using the ideas, inspiration, words, and images that flow from my well. Then I need to replace what has been used.
How do I do this?
I play, with no agenda and no goals. No expectations or rules. I become the child I was—really, the child I still am.
I bring out my felt pens and colouring books, my Spirograph set, my crossword puzzles. I wander my way through the million images in one of my art books. I plug in my iPod, choose my soundtrack of the day, and dance around the living room.
I pull out the deck of cards and crib board, and lose (a regular occurrence) to my husband. Then I challenge him to Scrabble, and win (also a regular occurrence).
I phone one of my friends and we talk forever.
I drive to town, and wander through the library, the bookstore, and the toy store. I get a mocha (grande, decaf, to go) from my favourite café, then park by the lake. Car windows open. Sip mocha. Savour that marriage of chocolate and coffee in my mouth, feel the heat as it moves down my throat. Watch the water and the sky. Hear the red-wing blackbirds, the ducks, geese, gulls. See the goslings, fuzzy balls in their baby feathers, following their parents around the edge of the water to where the new grass tastes best.
This. All of this fills my well again. Play and pleasure running through my senses, through my body and heart and mind. Choosing to reach into the things that I love. Leaving the watch and the clocks behind. Moving back into balance.
Hearing my own voice calling me. Come and play.