I swore that I wouldn’t start off any of my blog entries apologizing about how I have neglected my poor little blogspot. So I won’t. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?
Plus I have perfectly good reasons that I haven’t written in a long time. We have been living in a tornado for the past month and half and I am just now emerging from it. What has been happening, lately, you ask? The better question is what hasn’t been going on?
Oh, just a horrible stomach virus, back-to-back catering jobs, finding out that I am pregnant again, deciding that my husband and I will start a kids’ camp for foster kids, attending the training to become proper camp directors for said foster kids, squeezing in a random weekend jaunt down to Hilton Head, revamping a deck, working extra at the reading center and entertaining family that come into town. Just in case you were really curious.
Which brings me to the actual point of my little mini-blog today: is being busy just some people’s destiny in life or is something that we choose? And if we choose it, is it bad? I remember that I desperately wanted to be less busy when we lived in Florida. It was such a mental burden to have such a crazy, cluttered life—kind of like that out-of-control closet that you just would rather throw out the entire contents of rather than organizing it.
And when I moved to West Virginia, things really were much simpler for a good while—months, actually--I had little more to do than to hang out with Mountain Child and update my blog occasionally. It was lovely indeed, but it really was more like a pause as if I were drawing in a deep breath before the next sprint. It was a state that I couldn’t keep constant.
So is that a bad thing? Do I fight the busyness of life that seems to be so attracted to me, or do I ride with it because it is more like waves of an ocean that you can’t make still?
I have no idea.
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