This summer has been a lot of things, most of them beautiful, some of them hard. I participated in the Central Utah Writing Project, I taught summer school, I coached, I drafted new curriculum- a conglomeration that made me extraordinarily happy and extraordinarily tired and extraordinarily [fill in the blank, I'm sure it works].
All this is to say: until July 18th, I was feeling very er. Busier, tireder, joyfuler than usual. My days were amped to a precarious degree and I've learned [over and over] that even good things, without some dilution, can be too much. I am of the, "sign up for everything and even things not on the list" variety. I want to do everything and, until I try, wholeheartedly believe I am capable of doing everything. But the thing about spreading yourself thin is that things you love, and likely need, don't always make the cut.
And so it went until I awoke on July 18th with a resounding nothing scheduled. And while I usually equate a lack of schedule with a lack of ambition, I found myself gulping in my newfound freedom with relish. My days had suddenly become malleable. And so I went about recapturing my sanity.
As it turns out, my sanity hides in spin classes and trips to the grocery store. It camps out in books and ice chips. It lounges about in Wyoming. Sometimes, to my husband's chagrin, it stays up at night pelting Conlin with life-altering questions, such as, "Wait, but...do you like peanut butter? What about strawberries? If you had to eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would you eat?"
I found my sanity and with it the ability to breath deeply, eat fruit on the porch, turn pages of a book slowly and then really, really fast.
I have found my sanity just in time to lose it again.