Another year fades into memory

What happened this summer? What happened to my year? Here we are in the early days of fall.  It's raining today. Meg is outside somewhere. I need to water all the houseplants, go for a walk, shower. It's noon so I have a few more hours of work time.

Mid-summer I said, " I'm taking a break from work, nannying will be done in August, the food cart is officially closed, I have nothing else. I'll take a month for myself, for my art, for my health."

 It's been 1 month exactly. I went to the naturopath, I went to the chinese herbalist, I went to the acupuncturist, I went to my intuitive healer. I didn't go to the doctor, because earlier in the year when I went to see my regular doctor she had nothing to tell me.
           

I sit in the studio for 5 hours a day, more or less, but I'm here. Sewing, writing, cutting, doodling, painting, sketching, listening to music. It doesn't matter what I do, I just have to be here. My rules - No TV, No podcasts, no movies, unless I have a project well underway and have brain space to share. Follow every idea. Don't judge any ideas. Take something a step further. Drink water. Eat as you need.

The first week I was anxious about not making enough money. I had to push that mindset away.

Adjusting to silence. I try to spend a few hours everyday, in complete silence. Listening to myself, listening, sitting with that feeling that wants to be occupied all the time.

I go to the gym mid-day, when it's quiet. I can read an old Sun Magazine in peace on the treadmill. Take a shower, head home. Sit with Meg, read a book, do some chores, take a nap, get dinner ready.

I bake Pita bread at a food truck every Sunday morning. I also bake cauliflower, but the pita is the highlight. I arrive in the very early morning. I crank the oven up to 600. As hot as it goes. I flour the yeasty dough and roll out 6 dozen. Bake them until they balloon, let them cool. Mike says, listen to this podcast, bring your music, but I like the silence with the bread. I imagine I live in the Middle East, I imagine I'm an old man who's been baking pita his entire life,  I imagine a bustling, dusty, marketplace, where people come for falafel. I imagine I'm every person who ever baked leavened bread since the beginning of bread.

A few days ago I had a realization. I'm hard on myself. Always. So. Hard. And because I'm so hard on myself I can't ever really see how good I really am. Even when people tell me. I think their lying. I doubt. Things can always be done better.

The sun came through the Sweetgum tree for a bit. Another day slinks by.