I’ve dubbed this week The Reading Week. Because that’s what we’re going to do.
We are going to read.
All the people!
All the food!
All the events!
All the books!
All the projects!
All the work!
All the choices!
All the things!
So I picked just one thing for this week: books. We’ll read what we have on our shelves, and then I’ll expand my re-entry experiences to include An Expedition To The Library.
Going to the library feels like a momentous occasion. Like a feat. Like A Major Undertaking. My sensitive nerve endings will have to retract for the event. I will have to tamp down the awe and dizzy delight and overwhelmedness and hone in on titles and make selections.
It will be easy once I’m there, I know. Second nature, like driving and putting detergent in the washing machine. But there is anxiety beforehand. (Yes, I had anxiety over the detergent.)
Part of me wants to savor this tenderness. Newness, or RE-newness, is a precious commodity. Something tells me that I must sit up, pay attention, and slow the heck down. (The other part of me hates transition and wants to get on with it already.)
This week, the slow-the-heck-down part of me is reigning supreme. We will read, to ourselves and to each other. The togetherness, the papery, inky pages, the stories, the glow from the woodstove—all these things will conspire together to shore us up and ready us for the next step. When we are ready.
PS. I thought about doing a quotidian post for today, but then scrapped the idea. When in transition, there is no quotidian.