The weather is finally changing. Funny how it's always too hot until it's too cold and then you wish it was hot again.
Here, in Georgia where I live, the weather can change on a dime. It's a bit more gradual than in Texas where I'm originally from, but still, it was in the eighties one day and the next, I woke up shivering to 35 degree temperatures. Sweating and then shivering. It's like I'm inside the flu. 2020 has been an incredible year. One to go in the history books, I think. I'll certainly remember it as a year of momentous change and nail-biting uncertainty. Between job furloughs and school cancellations due to the pandemic, I've had so much time with my family. It's a weird mix of pure joy to be around them and debilitating dread because of the unknown. With the free time, I've been able to write and create more than ever before, but also with that extra time, I'm almost more stressed because I feel the need to fill that time with things I think I need to do rather than those I want to do. It's like if I'm not achieving something, I'm wasting the time. It's an odd paradox. Things have been so up and down. It's like the year slipped away from me one minute, but then I remember that I've written three books, taken two road trips, visited a dozen cities (always wearing a mask!) and spent countless hours with my wife and two boys. Things are good. There's also been a raging pandemic, so much social unrest, a crazed man in the Presidency and uncertain economic woe. Things are bad. Back and forth that pendulum swings. When I feel my poorest, I remind myself that at any time, I can go into the next room and pick up one of my boys and feel their warmth against me, their spidery legs cling to my sides and know that it's all going to be okay. No matter what, I'll have that. And it's good.
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AuthorI am a writer. I write. Archives
January 2021
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