Well, it’s been a delicious time away from everything, so far—lots of cozy moments. I feel like the hero in some sleepy, pastoral indie film where nothing happens but rest. I think I’d genuinely like to see such a movie, something about a Black woman eating cozy meals and thinking and writing and fucking and doing little else.
I think this is my first real vacation — usually, when I go out of town it’s always for something that vaguely feels like work even if it isn’t, or right when I’ve really begun to accept the concept of relaxation I’m already hurriedly packing to go back home. But these days, I sit in rocking chairs and have long talks with my love. I watch little deer appear and vanish and reappear in the woods surrounding the old farmhouse we’re living in. I indulge in whole mornings and afternoons of just thinking about stuff and talking to myself. And no Instagram or Twitter or other such nonsense to distract me. I’m having a month of Sundays and I love that for me. What a joy.
But (lol)…. I’m starting to wonder about what will happen when I go back home. What happens when I have to reengage with the parts of my life that I’m taking an extended break from, the parts that make joy feel less tangible? How to take this big feeling (call it peace, or at the very least a dilution of chaos) and break it down into something I can bring back home with me?