Doing Nothing is Actually Something...

I nestled myself into the nook of a rock on the beach for an hour in the evening sunlight yesterday and read an essay by Anna Quindlen about how doing nothing is really something.

“Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I don’t believe you can write poetry, or compose music, or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels inside that fuel creativity.”

By the time I looked up from that page I was so lost in thought that it took me by complete surprise to see the beach before me, bathed in liquid gold, waves exploding on the shore like nature’s own applause. After that I walked along the shore and out onto Pan’s Rock, where I stood and watched the pounding waves beneath me, daring them to reach me on the bridge.

For the second time this week I woke up alone this morning. Dada had snuck downstairs in search of downtime of his own. The Little Dude woke up, climbed out of his cot as usual and headed straight downstairs, closely followed by Big Brother. For the past 2 nights they’ve slept together in Big Brother’s bed, snuggled up like little lion cubs. I can’t believe they go to sleep like that, but it’s a measure of their closeness, not to mention how tired they’ve been at bedtime.

Snapshots of today:

2 delicious hours of downtime in my favourite coffee shop, fuelling creativity with a huge vanilla latte and a slice of something gooey and big enough for 2.

Wearing perfect skinny jeans, bought for £1.50 at a charity clothes swap at our church.

Pairing them with my favourite pair of heels (worn too infrequently) and walking right on by the clothes shops, reminding myself that new threads won’t make me happy, and that there’s something to be said for eking out a sense of style without a budget.

Finding the boys, all three, in the toy shop, and being descended upon by little lads, desperate to share their wares with me, bought with hard-earned pocket money, saved so passionately in their beloved money boxes.

Debating career options with Dada, wondering why it is that God sometimes doesn’t seem to have alot to say.

Wondering what to do, and appreciating the fact of having so many choices.

Spotting more of those suddenly visible threads, connecting now with then and even further back in time.

Musing over what’s been designed, and how the pieces fit together.

Wandering around the garden, wondering what are weeds and what are not.

Finding out that The Little Dude has got a place at nursery school for September, which means Big Brother will have a bit of company when he moves to his new Big School and starts P1.

Letting it sink in that life will change beyond all recognition, with my weekdays suddenly vastly empty until 2pm every day.

Writing school uniform shopping lists.

Explaining the Nursery news to the Little Dude, who wanted to call his Nannies right away.

Listening to him leave messages about how he’s a Big Boy now, and knowing that for the rest of my life I’ll remember his expression upon hearing a congratulatory message from his Nanny, such quiet pride in himself, such happy earnestness for one who is usually such a clown.

Realising it’s not far off a year since my first fledgling effort to write in a more public sphere, and feeling

unexpectedly encouraged a what a difference a year has made.

Checking the goals I scribbled down for 2009, and realising they’ve already been fulfilled. Wondering if I should be aiming higher, or just celebrating early accomplishments.

Hearing myself say ‘I love it here, I like my life, I have good friends and I don’t want anything to change’ and realising I should stop to recognise the goodness of this point without worrying about what might be about to be displaced.

Sending Dada to the Friary to go rock-climbing, still not convinced that isn’t sacrilege but liking the balance in our day, sufficient downtime and a sense of looking out for one another's needs, so much gentler than having to defend them for ourselves.

Boys who play for hours with brilliant new toys, and vowing to only ever invest in Lego products from now on.

I think a new book is chasing me. I’m trying to resist it but it comes, unbidden, into the room, waiting in the corner, patient but persistent. It won’t leave me be. Today I sketched out the ideas so far, just to try to shut it up, and it tumbled forth, start to finish, an outline ready to be written. A title too: A Mile Away From Home. I should have been relieved, thrilled even, to have a piece fall so easily into place, to feel so poised to get it written. Instead I sighed heavily and felt cornered. It’s got me again already, the story that must be told, prepared to tell itself if need be. There’s no escaping it. And now I’ve let it start itself, I suspect the only way forward is to keep going until The End’s in sight.