I went for a walk in the woods this morning, on my favorite trail that runs alongside a brook. A gift of these last few years has been discovering the trails right in my back yard and being able to enjoy them during all times of the year. As I walked in, I was reminded of what happens in the warm weather on the trail. The green. So much green. The lush greenery that only exists here in Massachusetts for a few months. The feeling of the air, it’s heavy and wet. The sound of the birds. I look out off of the trail and I feel closed in, wrapped up. The ferns cover the floor. The smell of wet dirt and of the foliage. Sometimes I catch a slight floral scent, only for a second or two.
Soon it will be fall and the green will turn orange and yellow and red. Then winter comes, shades of brown and some white when it snows. Then, spring, when the green pops up all over again. Nature is predictable in that way here on the trail. We let her do her thing, we let the seasons change. We accept the process so easily.
I’ve had an internal struggle these past few weeks as I started back up writing here. I was writing every day for a while, then found I needed a break. I took that break and came back with a new perspective. But I’ve been beating myself up. I want to write every day, but life is happening. I just can’t get into the headspace. And there’s this voice, Well Pam, you’re failing here. You’re not doing what you said you were going to do. Yeah, that voice.
But as I walked into the woods this morning and felt held by nature, I heard the other voice. Pam, we don’t rush nature. We accept the seasons for what they are. We enjoy the green of June. Look, the brook’s water level is low. We accept that the mud comes along with the green. We accept the whole package. Of course.
And there it was.
It’s the end of the school year. The kids have so much going on. We’re planning for the summer when Christian’s work schedule changes. Of course.
I’ve just spent five intensely creative months writing and taking classes and reading. The seeds of all that are settling within me. Of course.
We’re in the middle of a heat wave right now. Of course.
Then I came upon someone’s artwork on the edge of the trail. Maybe it was a student drawing for a school project? Maybe it was left there on purpose, or maybe not. Wherever the drawing came from, it unlocked a memory for me.
I was kid Pam again. I spent a lot of time lost in my own world as a kid. I loved a notebook. I loved to create and read. But I remembered something. I always had notebooks and crayons and markers. But the notebooks were always only started. It was always only the first few pages that were filled. Kid Pam heard that first voice, a lot. I always wanted to draw well. But I would try and stop. It wasn’t good. I wanted to write. I would do it a little, and stop. The memory was of all those started notebooks. The memory was of the pull I had within me to create. The memory was of Kid Pam, giving into that voice. And stopping. You’re failing here.
The sadness is real, my friends. I let my mind wander off and wonder what it might have been like if Kid Pam heard a supportive voice instead. That loving voice could have come from anywhere. But it didn’t. I let myself go there for a bit.
One of the most beautiful things I’ve learned in these last five months is that I can give Kid Pam what she needs now. She still exists within me. It’s this kind of this bizarro time thing. Today, you can give yourself what you needed at any point in your life, and it helps. It helps you now.
And that’s what I did today.
You are learning. You are growing. It takes time. You are doing beautifully. And even though you can’t see it right now, you are getting there. This is all part of the process. Keep going. I love you.
Thanks for reading today’s entry in my daily blog. My goal here is to practice noticing. I try to write about small things and I try to keep it light. Sometimes I write about creativity or healing. And sometimes I write about my dogs or what I cooked for dinner. Writing daily here is a way for me to shine a light back on my life and help me see.
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