sabbaticals and fallow ground
It seems the summers never offer the plethora of creative time that I envision. I really should know better. It never changes from year to year. The academic year comes to a close and I imagine all this free time for creative endeavors. Then I remember that I’ve got a crap-ton of work to do on the farm and then I remember that I’m tired and mostly just want to curl up with a glass of good bourbon and a better book to finish out my night. I’m sorry. I love you all, but I love that down time too. And let me tell you. I read a lot of great books over the sumer. Some light and just for fun. Others heavy to push my mind. But, summer “break” has ended and I’m back at my academic desk. So be it. As we’ve discussed before there are season for everything.
I’ve learned a few things though. For example two minutes and thirty seconds in my microwave seems to leave a few too many kernels of popcorn un-popped, but two minutes and forty-five seconds burns it. I’m remembering I love to write. But, I’m also remembering that I’m easily distracted. And the only way the words flow is in solitude and uninterrupted for hours and/or days on end. I am what I am. An introvert who craves solitude and set his own pace and agenda. And as I’ve stumbled back into this place I realize that I’ve been a poor host. I’ve left comments unacknowledged and questions unanswered and for that I seek your pardon. In my creative sabbatical I have left this place as fallow ground.
Perhaps it’s time for that sabbatical to end?
Truthfully, it hasn’t been completely accidental. My soul has been weary. There are details that I’ll omit but, I’ve become tired of all the noise. The noise of the phone. The noise of an election year. The noise of millions of voices all trying to be heard. All claiming to be important. And so I had to ask myself if I really have something of value to offer? Or is this place simply more noise. I’ve said before that it takes a certain amount of arrogance to do this, but if that’s the case let me be arrogant. Someone will tell me they hate it. Someone will tell me they love it. Plenty of people will tell me what I should have done or said. So be it. It’s not the critic who counts…
Words come. Words fail. Let’s see where we go from here. There’s stuff I want to say.
In the meantime… Live well… laugh often… love always.