I am just finishing up the busiest week of my entire life.
I'm being honest, here.
I thought working at a Bible Camp in the summer was crazy. Before that, I thought planning my wedding was crazy. I thought college, student teaching, and working overnight shifts all at the same time was crazy.
Nothing really prepared me for this kind of crazy.
We've been at work from 7:30 in the morning until at least 10 at night for the entire week. I've taken up sitting on the floor behind my check in area so I can answer the phone without people seeing me and thus needing to talk to me. I've decided to go to the bathroom to cry on about seven different occasions, but didn't do it on any of those occasions because I just didn't have time. I actually missed 150 plus calls a day over the past week... and that was with two (sometimes three) other staff members handling phones.
It's good- so good- for the company we're working for, for our financial well-being, for the guests who have been coming in with rosy cheeks and big big smiles.
But it's also made me miss out on something important.
The white space.
Every moment of my past week has been crammed full with answering calls, planning tour groups, checking them in, answering more calls, handling payments, planning for the next group... and finally collapsing into bed when we eventually get to go home.
There's no buffer.
It's been two weeks since I cleaned my bathroom, there's clean laundry on my bedroom floor that I know won't get folded before it's worn, and I've barely written anything in three weeks. There's no cleaning time, no planning time, no thinking time.
I'm an extroverted person by nature. I am a caretaker personality- someone who thrives on positive feedback and making people happy and measurable productivity.
Busy comes easily for me.
But I'm finding that in order to be healthy, to truly and completely be the person God created me to be, I also need time to think.
I have to process stuff.
I have to work out the words in my mind.
And strangely enough, the one thing I need to do most is write.
As someone who barely considers herself a blogger, I'm less than inclined to use the word "writer" when describing myself, but I'm learning that it's what I am. While often I write for others, more frequently and consistently, I write for myself. I write because it helps me make sense of everything going on in my head.
And these days, my head is a scary place to be.
So much has changed so quickly, and there are so many thoughts that haven't yet been strung into sentences and organized in a way I can understand that I'm having trouble being okay.
I get through my days just fine- I'm not on the verge of a mental breakdown or something. I just feel fragmented, like a kaleidoscope. All the pieces are there, the colors are vivid, but they just don't make any sense right now. I'm fine, but I can tell you that I need that white space back.
I need my thinking time, my processing time, my writing time.
So I do apologize to you faithful readers who have stuck with me through my widely random writings for the past few months, and I ask for your patience.
I'm learning it, you know? I'm learning again how much I need this space to write.
The white space, the blank screen... it feels like home.
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