by Jenny Rose | Aug 31, 2024 | A Flourishing Woman, The Journey
In July of 2016 I wrote my first post on this blog, a letter of resignation from people pleasing. Since then, that post has had more than 20,000 views. A comparatively modest number for the internet, but for me personally an astounding one.
Now, in August of 2024, I’m writing another letter, this one a heartfelt thank you to all of you who read my words, commented, and sent my work on to others over the years. I hope my posts will continue to find those who are treading some of the same paths I have.
When I began this blog, the only goal I could identify was to have the courage to do it. I wasn’t sure who I was or what I thought and I didn’t know how to use my true voice. I felt as though I was fighting for my life. I didn’t expect anyone would read it, but I knew I needed to write it. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, but I knew I had to, and I knew intuitively whatever I wrote here would be real and true and honest. I wanted to find that woman, know her, and reclaim her if I could.
Photo by Ryan Moreno on Unsplash
I did not imagine how powerful the practice of blogging would be for me. I did not dream of the healing, the growth and learning, and the self-acceptance I’ve achieved.
I almost never take vacations. I don’t say that with pride or a sense of superiority. In fact, I’m determined to give myself more regular breaks in the future. I’m off work when sick or injured, of course. We were furloughed during the pandemic, but that hardly felt like a vacation. However, for two weeks the pool facility where I work is closed down for maintenance, and I was amazed at how I looked forward to these two weeks, how I longed for them.
I’m not traveling, or doing anything wildly different or special, but the gift of time is exquisite. Time without clocks or my phone. Time in the garden. Hours in which to read and write. Time to sit in the sun, take a catnap. Time like a ripple of playful music, empty, inviting, unpressured. Time to think and feel and drift. Time for inspiration and intuition.
When I feel like I don’t have enough time during normal working life, I’m harsh with myself. I tell myself we all find time to do the things that matter and if I’m not, either I don’t really want to do what I think I want to do or I’m doing life WRONG. Again. I’m lazy, I’m disorganized, I’m ineffective, I’m wasting time, and I’m making excuses. So I work harder, get up a little earlier. I try to be more organized. I simplify my routines. I keep moving, producing, and doing.
In these days of my vacation, however, I discover when I have time, real, unlimited, unbounded time, I fall joyfully into exactly what I most want to do (working on my third book), like plunging into a lazy summer river.
I’ve been asking myself what needs to happen for me to follow my heart and soul into writing this book and all the books after it. Now, when the voice of my intuition says ‘more time,’ I’m listening instead of attacking myself. Maybe my story does need more of me than I’ve been giving it, more presence, more space, more energy, more time.
I’ve been thinking about the shape of my life, what I do in a day, a week, a month. I’ve wondered what I can take out. Not work. Not gardening. Not exercise. Not reading. Not Substack, where I serial post my fiction and occasional essays. It occurred to me to wonder if I’m ready to let go of Harvesting Stones.
This morning, while driving to get groceries in early morning rain, I found myself mentally drafting this post, and I thought, I guess I am ready. And I felt sad. Thunder rolled, as it had been all morning. The wipers went back and forth. I sat looking at a stoplight, waiting for the green arrow, and for a moment I let Harvesting Stones drift away, shining, heavy with words, a creased and folded roadmap of my psyche, so full of effort and vulnerability. I imagined space and time and energy in the place where it had been and I thought about letting die what must.
Sadness was there, yes, but also peace. A sense of rightness. I’ve found an interactive community on Substack where comments turn into discussions and inspiration. I like the creative energy there, the collaborative tools and people. Harvesting Stones has been a solo endeavor, hugely growthful when I began because it forced me out of hiding, but now the challenge is gone and I’m ready for more interaction, more connection, and the endless fascination of writing compelling fiction.
It’s been some time since I’ve seen the path ahead so clearly in my writing life, and I want to find out where it leads.
I’m going to leave Harvesting Stones up, just as it is, in the hopes people will continue to stumble across it and find it useful. I will still receive and answer comments and maintain the site. You can always find me on Substack. My work there is free to read, just as it’s been here.
This blog has been one of the most significant things I’ve ever done. Letting go is hard. I cannot close this chapter in my life without thanking my emotional intelligence coach. Without him, I would not be in Maine. I would not have started blogging. I would not have written two books and be working on a third. I’m not sure I’d even be alive. I certainly would not have reclaimed my health and joy. I did the work, but he showed me the way.
Thank you all for being part of my journey. Come see me on Substack!
By Danijel Durkovic on Unsplash
by Jenny Rose | Feb 17, 2024 | Authenticity, Emotional Intelligence
Years ago I came across a tip somewhere for getting to know new people in a meaningful (versus social media, digitally-altered images, and dating apps) manner with good questions, one of which is “What would your ideal vacation look like?”
At the time I thought it a great question and I still do. I tried it once without success. Not only was I not asked in return, I received a kind of non-answer along the lines of “I don’t take vacations …” (I wondered why, but it felt intrusive to ask) which didn’t help me get to know the party in question any better! Connection dead on arrival, the story of my life. I retired, abashed.
Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash
Ever since then, I’ve thought about my answer to the question nobody has ever asked me!
I’m thinking about it again because I just picked up Drinking the Rain by Alix Kates Shulman for the first time. It’s a memoir about a woman, about my age, who spends a summer alone in a primitive cabin on an island off the coast of Maine. Primitive means no telephone, no running water, no electricity. She has no transportation aside from her own legs. She finds the experience so satisfying and remarkable she begins to spend all her summers there, for the most part alone.
It also happens to be school vacation week here in Maine, and I hear lots of talk at the pool where I work about planned trips right now. A good friend is taking the week off with her daughter and partner to go to Florida.
Online Oxford Dictionary defines a vacation as “an extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.”
Hmmm.
I looked it up because all my life I’ve heard people use the word ‘vacation’ to describe trips and adventures that sounded exhausting and stressful rather than like ‘leisure and recreation’. Of course, it’s not a one-size-fits-all definition. That’s why it’s such a great getting-to-know-you question.
I cannot remember a single vacation I’ve taken with others as a child or adult that wasn’t fraught with tension and stress, and from which I didn’t return far more exhausted and burned out than when I left home.
When people talk about vacations, I shudder.
But once I had a perfect vacation. An incredible period of leisure and recreation away from home. I’ll never forget it.
I was a struggling mother of two school-age sons in an abusive marriage, living in a small town about three hours’ drive from my sons’ father, who was too busy and important to drive to us. For the sake of my boys I therefore drove to their dad twice a month for years and years. A six-hour round trip. This effectively took care of two full weekends a month. I had chronic pain and was always exhausted. My husband had isolated me socially and controlled our finances. My mother and adoptive father had just moved to the small rural town where we lived so I was once again caring for her and my significantly older adoptive father. As Mom was also abusive, I had no respite childcare. I did not trust my husband and tried to keep the kids away from him. I solved the childcare problem by working at their little school, so we had the same schedule.
Photo by Hailey Kean on Unsplash
A friend of mine had a family cabin in the mountains west of town and she offered it to me one summer. I carefully planned for a period of time when the boys would be with their dad, and I went.
The cabin was in an isolated community, mostly of summer places. Here in Maine, it would have been called a “camp.” It had been built on a hill amidst pine trees. No road or other building was in sight. It had running water, but no electricity and no phone. These were the days before cell phones. My friend’s family used oil lamps and candles for light. The hot water heater ran on gas; I had to light the pilot light. The cabin consisted of one large room and a bathroom, with four twin beds in the main room, a fireplace, and a simple open-concept kitchen. The small fridge was also gas, as well as a rudimentary stove. Outside was a large outdoor fireplace and seating area.
I packed a couple of books, a journal, some food and minimal clothes. Nobody but my friend knew the exact location. I was alone.
I was alone! No one could interrupt me. No one could make a demand, tell me I was doing it wrong, hurt me. No one could telephone. No one could have a crisis that only I could solve. I did not have to be responsible for anyone but myself. The relief was indescribable.
It was a beautiful Colorado mountain summer. No bugs, clean air, cool nights, dry weather, abundant sun. I lit pilot lights, unpacked, put a chair in the sun, and undressed.
Yes. I undressed. I wanted to soak up every bit of sun and privacy I possibly could. I got myself a cold drink and went outside with my book, naked as the day I was born. I read for a while. I was reading Elizabeth George at the time, the author of a magnificent mystery series, each book big and fat and long.
I got sleepy in the sun and realized I could take a nap!
I went inside, chose a bed, opened it, cuddled down, and slept for almost two hours. When I got up I was hungry, so I ate. Then I went back out, moved my chair into the afternoon sun, and read some more. When the sun went down I put on clothes for warmth, lit candles, ate again.
It went like that for three blissful days. I took a shower once, and brushed my teeth when I thought of it. I ate and drank when I wanted to. I paid no attention to the time. My hours were bounded by the sun’s movement across the deck. I slept naked and spent the days naked, dressing only in the cool early mornings and evenings. I wrote and read and slept around four hours a day. When it got dark, I slept again. I had never slept like that before and I haven’t since. There seemed no end to my exhaustion and my relief at knowing I was somewhere they couldn’t find me. Nobody needed me. I didn’t have to respond. I was safe. I knew my friend would never tell my husband where I was. The kids were with their dad. It was the first time I’d ever been inaccessible to everyone.
Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash
No amount of money could have given me such a respite. No exotic destination could have suited me better than the utter privacy of that old cabin in the pine trees. I have never again experienced that kind of freedom to do nothing, be nothing, and know I would not be interrupted. For me, the word ‘vacation’ will always mean those three days.
I suppose some people would find this pitiable. The thought makes me smile, as it was one of the peak experiences of my life. And that’s my point; that’s why imagining (or remembering) an ideal vacation is so interesting to share with others. Such an exercise points to our longing, and what we wish to escape. I know people who love to travel and go on adventures, enjoy getting away with friends or family. I listen to their plans and stories and marvel at how different we all are, how unique our ideas of fun and what we choose to do with our leisure.
I know other people who are perfectly content at home, who have no desire to get away at all. That’s not me. I love my home, but I’d go somewhere like that cabin in a flash. I’m not so exhausted now, but I’d welcome the same feeling of being out of touch, unavailable, free of the necessity of emotional labor, not because I don’t love my friends, my job, my cats, but because I also love my solitude and one can’t do things like sit naked in the sun and read all day in company! I couldn’t, anyway. I’ve never been able to be all of what I am unless I’m alone.
Questions:
- What would your ideal vacation look like?
- What’s the best vacation you’ve ever had?
- Do you return from vacations rested and renewed or exhausted?
Leave a comment below!
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