I’ve been sitting here at the computer for a while, now, trying to figure out how to sum up what I want to say about the weekend ahead of me. The sunrise is in full bloom, and soon I will need to shower and finish packing, and take care of all the loose ends I wanted to take care of that I always think will take no time at all but in reality end up absorbing at least an hour or two.
I’m going off for a weekend to take a writing class. There—I said it. I have no idea what to expect, and the thought of doing it is slightly terrifying, but I can’t wait. I know by now that stepping out into something new is almost always harder and more complex than I had imagined, but often it is more beautiful in the long run, too. I can’t tell you how impatient I feel to learn more, but along with that I feel tired and slightly distracted and rather unfit to take even a four-hour class. So we’ll see how it goes. I’ve got a fantastic husband who is willing to send me off for a few days, and children who think that the idea of Mommy taking a class is pretty cool. I have a full day of driving ahead of me, and lots of coffee to drink, and lots of time to think uninterrupted. I can feel my energy level rising already.