Sabbatical

I've been on an enforced medical sabbatical for the last few weeks and discovered I apparently have no life. Partially, that could be the issues I have with a one-handed life. No dishes, no cleaning, minimal dressing... and I won't even discuss the personal grooming difficulties. The experience gave me a new appreciation of the truly, permanently handicapped folks among us--especially those who cope gracefully day in and day out.

I tried to take a picture of the pesky finger responsible for my sabbatical, only to discover multiple difficulties with the process. That's okay. The general public doesn't need to be exposed to my stitches.

What I discovered on this little enforced vacation is the importance of our hands. There is little in life that doesn't involve our hands, from brushing our teeth to opening a door. The more surprising discovery was just how much work our pinkie finger performs in our day-to-day business. It serves as a balance when we pick things up. It's the finger that ensures our grasp when holding items. Working without it was more difficult that I imagined. So what did I learn on my sabbatical?

There are no unimportant parts.

Even the smallest joint in the smallest finger has purpose. If this is true for the body, how much more is it true for humanity? There are no superfluous people. Everyone has a purpose. Sometimes, we only realize that purpose when they're gone.

anny

Alternate Plan

Writing is...frustrating. It's especially so when you have huge distractions from everyday life. And like many writers, I bought into the admonishments...write every day...keep writing, even when you don't feel like it...BICHOK (butt in chair, hands of keyboard).

No.

Little is accomplished except my increasing frustration. Time out. Time out, I say! There are only so many directions the mind can go.

Perhaps, once my 'stuff' is back in order, then there will be room in the fuzzy brain for writing. So I'm taking a short sabbatical to organize the rest of my life. I'm giving myself permission to take care of my other obligations without feeling like a failure because I'm not writing.

I admire those writers who can plow on through thick and thin, through the mire of family drama, poor health, and financial emergencies. I can't. And I refuse to feel guilty about that.

Perhaps with all the extra 'contemplation' time, I'll figure out what direction my stories are taking. That would be a good thing to know. In the meantime, they say organization is good for the soul.

anny