It’s hard to make the switch to going on retreat. It’s a vacation, of course, yet quite different. Once we’ve stopped by the local grocery store there’s no shopping to be done. There are few, if any, sights to be seen. Just a cabin and the noises that nature brings. It’s a hard stop from working the day job, running errands, and planting yourself in front of the TV.

I’ve spent the last few weeks so eager to get away, to breathe, to read and write… but there’s something to be said about waiting too intensely for something. Something to be said, but I don’t have the words.

I spend so long telling myself, “FINALLY I will have the time,” that when ‘finally’ comes I have to first spend time reacquainting myself with the stillness. I have to remember how to do nothing (and appreciate it) before I have any hope of turning the creativity on. The desperation in wanting to write is what pushes the ability away.

Last night we made the drive, did the shopping, settled into the cabin. This morning I woke up to sunshine. The sounds of birds and bugs. My feet draped over the edge of our pond’s little dock and the dozens of tiny fish come to inspect.

I hope the next few days are productive, but first I have to slow the pace of myself down to this: a day that moves no faster than a light breeze and is no more unsettled than the gentle ripples on the water it makes.

Sitting on the front porch steps