I pictured myself languidly waking up at 10.00 a.m., mosying into the kitchen, brewing the perfect cup of coffee and writing my heart out. I pictured myself writing about the beauty of vacation, the perfectly clipped recipes I’d found and the comforting purr of my mom’s newest kitten, Lucy. I pictured Lucy obediently seated on my lap while sentences flowed from my finger tips through to my well-worn keyboard. A sweet fantasy, but alas, a fantasy.
Webster’s defines vacation as “a respite or a time of respite from something : INTERMISSION.” In this literal sense of the word, I am very definitively on “vacation.” I am not at school and am working on not working.
In spite of my hopes to the contrary, I am still dutifully waking up at 6.45 a.m. on the dot every morning. Each day, I scrunch my eyes shut in an effort to coax myself back to sleep. To no avail. I am, however, successfully mosying into the kitchen to make coffee, albeit earlier than I had hoped. And Lucy. Well, she’s cute and all but not exactly the type of animal that allows much cuddle time. As for the writing, you guessed it. Writing/blogging tends to fall to the bottom of my list each day since it’s my extra. I was sure that over vacation I’d find the time. Between late nights with friends, catching up with family, and searching for the perfect recipe, writing once again fell to the bottom of my list.
Seeing as tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I decided this morning that the as-yet-to-occur recipe-clipping needed to take place. It actually has morphed into recipe-surfing. My mother has a severe addiction to clipping any and everything from magazines. Her pile of publications grows, taking on a life of its own and seemingly defying the laws of physics as the stack gets taller, refusing to fall. Before she can throw them into the recycling bin with good conscience, she dutifully flips every, single, last page and clips the recipes, articles or quotes that interest her or spark her fancy. Clipped articles are then inserted into a very scientific filing system: random ziploc bags. I think that this may be (subconsciously…or maybe not so) why when I started to think about my contribution to tomorrow’s meal (true to fashion at the last minute), I avoided actual paper and scissors. I opted for some good old-fashioned food blog surfing.
And while I still have not found what I need in terms of food ideas, I did happen on a post that spoke to me. True to artsdevivre form, it seemed to be just what I needed, when I needed it. I think you should read it, too. But in case you don’t, here’s the skinny:
In the post, food writer Luisa Weiss describes her own journey to writing a book, and wonders where it “all began”, her love affair with writing. Although her path seems to make more sense than my own (she wanted to be a writer, got a job in publishing, started a blog and is about to embark on publishing a book about her life), reading her story made me want to continue to create my own. And most importantly, to listen to my own heart, follow my own dreams and not be afraid to take risks. Whatever those risks may be. I did it a year ago when I moved back to Paris. Ironically enough, artsdevivre has been a bigger risk than moving back to Paris ever was…Paris was home, comfortable. Writing was something I always proclaimed to want to do, but didn’t actually do. And I certainly didn’t let anyone read it when I did.
Now that I do write, I feel more connected to my own life somehow. Maybe it’s because each part of my day is done with more intention, and attention. I examine the parts of the whole, wondering if they are interesting enough to write about.
Of course I dream of being published one day. But you never know what is going to happen or why or how or where. My vacation visions are the cold hard proof. If Luisa Weiss hadn’t experienced the many things she has, maybe she would not have had the material or reflectiveness to write her very own book. Mine is in there somewhere, too. Hopefully, artsdevivre is helping to coax it out. And for now, it’s good enough that someone actually said to me recently “You’re a writer. You know what I mean.”