The Moving Book

Busy days for me have wound down, to a degree, with the onset of winter and far too much snow in too short a time. My latest improv class has ended and the next won't start for some time. I have no other regularly scheduled weeknight or weekend activities right now. My scramble to get ready for vacation is over; as is the vacation (alas!).  The BIG project I was involved in at work is complete. One of the projects I manage has been killed and closed. I'm relishing this quieter time. And of course, I'm still busy. And of course, my brain is popping with ideas of what I want to do - for the moment, for the week, for the year, forever. I'm living comfortably with time; we have reached a compromise, time and I.

I have been reading more the past couple months than I have for ages. I've been buying books and books and books. Novels, inspirational, history, management and leadership, short story compilations, autobiographies, books to read and pass onto others. There is a pile of books stacked precariously on the very end of my book shelf to be put away, given away, donated. There are stacks of books in front of the other already-put-away books. I will need to soon move some books. My bookshelf is quite inaccessible right now, as The Kid and I continue to get our stuff, our home, our lives in order.

Three moving books that are on my mind:

- As The Kid and I recreate our living space, I've thought about how many times I have moved in my life. I have moved twenty-five times in my life - with twenty-one of those times being after I left my Mom's home. I could write a book on How To Move. It would be a manual, really, full of humour, tips, tricks, pitfalls to avoid. It would include reproducible check sheets at the end. I would end up with my own company as The Moving Planner and I wouldn't have to lift a single box or wash a single window!

- I recently read a couple of great family history related books. I learned the fellow that wrote them lived in my same small home town. I dug out the town history book, and read his family story, as written by his sister. Since reading that book, the town history has been physically moving. At first I thought nothing of it and just pushed it back into its spot. One day, it was right out of the bookshelf and on the floor in front of my bed. I asked The Kid if she'd taken it out. No. I've told a few people about the book that moves. Everyone has a slightly different idea about how and why it is moving. No matter what the answer is, I know that the book is my sign, my signal, my message to write. After some time spent writing, the book quit moving. I got busy and didn't write for some weeks. The book moved again. I get the message, finally.

- I have often tossed the idea around about writing a book. Different books at different times in my life. Guess what? I have never taken the time to get further than an initial chapter, most of which ended up being thrown away in times of self-doubt. I have had such a great fear that I would be never able to write something of value that I would not allow myself to go ahead. I've had a kernel of an idea for a book that I've planned and written in my head a dozen times in the past three years. I continued to try to figure out the idea. I wasn't able to decide how the book should be written. The many ideas kept moving around in my head, moving closer to actually putting words on paper, moving to the back burner again. I would move to and away from what I want to do as I struggled with time and energy and acceptance of my writing. It was like a game of hide and seek or peek-a-boo. The Moving Book above has pointed me to what I want to write, what I need to write, how I will write.

The time has come. Winter with shorter hours of daylight and snow that makes travel difficult has opened up a window for me. I will continue to be busy doing this and doing that. Some days and weeks will be so busy that I will be craving down time and time for my self. In those almost-too-busy times, I will write. It's what I'm meant to do at this time in my life.