Floating

This is a strange time for me.

It’s the middle of May as I’m writing this. I’m finished teaching classes at Penn State. But we don’t move to Iowa until the middle of June.

I’ve done as much as I can to prepare for the move. Now it’s up to the universe. Or the gods. Or God. Depends on your belief system, I suppose. Will my movers arrive on time? Will they destroy all of my earthly possessions? Will they charge me double the estimate? Time will tell, dear reader. After my experience moving from Minneapolis to State College, I’m bracing for the worst.

I can’t really get my head around writing. Academic writing or creative writing. I’m still at it, but it’s a little slow. And there’s only so much I can do to get ready to move. So I feel like I’m in stasis. A liminal space.

I’ve worked so hard over the last seven years. I worked hard before that, too, I guess. I always work hard. Teaching, writing, getting a doctorate, directing theatre, being a parent, etc., etc., and etc. I’m used to being busy. Too busy.

And now I’m not as busy. And that’s strange.

***

Yes, I know I should be enjoying this break. There will be plenty to do soon. Figuring out my new position in Iowa will likely be hard work. The actual move will be a doozy. I’m taking two children under the age of eight on another 1,000 mile drive to Iowa City. The cats will be in the back. One of our cats is almost fifteen. The other is three. I’ve got the odds at 50/50 that Yara, the elderly cat, dies in transit. But we’ll see. I have enough cat tranquilizers to tranquilize an elephant. Maybe the drugs will help. Maybe the drugs will hurt. Yara is a Norwegian Forest Cat. She comes from hearty stock, so we’ll roll the dice.

And I’m sure I’ll be entangled in all sorts of work once we get settled. Writing projects. Teaching projects. Theatre projects. Making stuff with other people. Try as I might, I can’t escape building things. It’s what I do. What I’ve done over the last twenty years. What I’ll do over the next 50. And then the eternity after that.

So I should take a deep breath. Enjoy green Pennsylvania. Our backyard is alive again. A baby robin got stuck in the trampoline. I watched my wife Katie lift it out and set it free. I certainly wasn’t going to touch the thing.

Take a walk. Take a deep breath. Save baby robins. Enjoy the moment. That’s what I should be doing. Being still is at odds with the way I’ve been living for a long time. I should be still anyway.

***

I wake up. I drink coffee. I check email. I play video games. I get the kids from school. Yes, I’m still participating in the improv theatre, but I’m not as invested. I’ll write about that later, I’m sure. Saying goodbye to something I’ve poured my soul into over the last seven years seems like it’s own blog. I’ll save that for another entry.

Right now I’m floating. In this liminal space. Being still. Trying to be still.

What a strange, strange moment.