Liminal space

on that space in between all the things

My first attempt at a voiceover to make this more accessible. Please excuse the stumblings, etc.

Dear Musers

Last week, my contract role at the regional rail provider finished on the same day I submitted my manuscript to an unpublished manuscript prize. After only three hours sleep from agonising over every comma, word, sentence and paragraph, I pressed send and dressed for my last day in the office.

My days at rail, on a site visit and on my last day

Since then, I feel adrift, restless. I still wake too early and feel too tired. I have loads to do thanks to the admin of being a writer and to all the things that have lain in wait for me. There’s the organising for next year’s retreats, fine tuning of my freelance writing and editing pages, preparing marketing communications, and tidying up the mess of my office and home from the whirlwind of the last couple of months.

I have a list, because that’s what I love to do, and pull items from it to add to the day ahead. It feels great to tick things off, to have some forward momentum. The list is huge, though, because of that transitional space with work and writing at a time of year energy ramps up with Christmas preparation and end of the year gatherings.

The list has morphed into multiple lists and the one thing missing from them is rest.

Recently, I went away with mates for a chill time. Instead, my head was full of things needing to my attention and my body and brain didn’t know how to slow down. I itched to do instead of relax as I had too many things I needed to do before I was ready to relax. I recalled holidays with Mum who didn’t know how to relax. I was on that roller coaster of doing instead of being. This time of year, it feels all about the doing as if we are all waiting for Boxing Day when we can finally put our feet up.

On Sunday, M and I set up the Christmas tree. As I wound the string of lights around the prickly and itch-inducing sappy tree, something switched inside me. There was a memory of the breathlessness, the season-induced craze that consumes me from the moment I pull out the decorations until Boxing Day. So, I stopped and vented. I told him that I didn’t want to be the only person who 'makes’ Christmas happen, and if I was, then maybe, I wasn’t into doing it all. He listened, then pitched in and helped.

On my way to bed that night, I watched the lights on the tree and remembered why I do this. I recalled finding my eldest when he was young in the middle of the night watching the tree and saying how beautiful it was and I felt a pang for that time when they were still little, here.

The light wreath on the shed at pre dawn and the glowing lights on the tree

The next morning in the the predawn light, I came down to the hall and saw the wreath of lights made so many years ago on the shed and was flooded with memories of Christmases past, of the boys voices, their excitement.

Time and breathlessness, it seems, has been on my mind. Three weeks ago, I began this newsletter writing about this breathlessness, of things that grate, of the endless lists:

It’s hard to believe that time has slipped through my fingers so fast that in only six weeks, it will be Christmas. Every year I tell myself that I am not going to get caught up in the frantic behaviour that goes on at this time of year, but here I am. Breathless, heart-racey.

I’m super tired. I’ve been away three weekends in a row and one of those was a salve of gardening, friends and sunshine, but I need more. My body is signalling that I need to slow down, stop trying to do everything. But I keep pushing through trying to ignore it.

This afternoon is our street party I’ve organised and I love organising it, but I’m going into it with an empty tank. If I was a child, I’d send myself back to bed, or tell me that maybe I didn’t need to go.

This morning, I woke early and instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, I got up and got on with things. Tidying up, cooking, tiny spots of gardening and only now at ten am I sitting down to do the thing I wanted to do, write. My mind is elsewhere. The veggies and pile of apples needing to be cooked before they turn to compost, washing that’s still on the line from yesterday and washing that needs to be thrown into the machine.

I’ve been composing words in my head about what I need to pull back on, how I can make sure I spend time focusing on the things I need to do. Dates loom of when things need to be submitted by, completed, attended to. Another weekend away next week that I have no energy for.

When I submitted my manuscript I have been working on for the last seven years to an unpublished manuscript competition, I recalled telling a friend all that time ago it would take ten years to write. So, if this is the draft that catches, I’ll be happy.

At the end of the manuscript, again, and the mess

Finishing a manuscript is a brilliant thing and it’s a relief to have done the work to get to the end of it, but it also means I free-fall as I work out what to do with that 6 am slot. I’m not ready to dive into the two other manuscripts on ice so instead, I’m doing the admin, looking back on its journey and its many iterations of titles.

In the last couple of days, I have been thinking about what’s next and reflecting on 2023 — what worked, what didn’t, transitions in relationships and friendships, physical and mental spaces, and Bella who’s on her last days.

I have never had to decide when another being’s life is done and I don’t want to. We talk about it, a lot, about how we will know when, about how it would be best if she died in her sleep, about whether she’ll make Christmas. Whenever it is, I will still not be ready. So, I have dressed her in her Christmas coat for the rest of December, just in case.

Bella in her Christmas cheer

Five things

1. Monique Mulligan’s newsletter on noting five things

2. Brooke McAlarly’s newsletters on the days that are hard and gifting

3. I attended Mek’s Laneway Learning on Yonkoma Manga recently and it’s a great way to deepen story. Follow her on insta to see when her next ones run.

4. I attended Matthew Ryan Davies book launch of his latest book The Broken Wave and I can’t wait to read

5. Jeannine Ouellette’s newsletter on Mary Oliver’s words to pay attention

Noticing

Things that have caught my eye, unsurprisingly most are in nature

A flower of pleated petals, poppies straining to be seen, a dead bird being buried under sand drift, seeds that look like beards, tiny berries on the saltbush, patterns left in the sand as the ocean drags back over seaweed, art that reminded me I need to draw more, soldier bugs quietly buzzing in the depths of the garden, rain on the roses that have colour and fragrance that makes me want to sing.

Lastly…

I have exactly one hundred subscribers. I love number things, and this one seems beautiful. Thank you to those have just joined, I hope you enjoy my musings.

Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

To those who have chosen to pay to read my words, I am deeply grateful.

Til next time

x Meg

PS: if you are keen on a writing retreat next year, fill out the Expression of Interest form as they are filling up quickly