Time to put pen to paper, metaphorically speaking, to clear my head a bit.
Where am I? Well, I'm just not sure, really. I think I've lost myself. Taking a couple of weeks to find the map. I run the danger of goofing off or playing games or watching TV or staring into space long enough to just go back to being lost again when it's all over. So, paper. Pen.
To whom am I writing? Not you, dear reader, though I do hope you take some comfort here, recognizing some struggle of our common humanity. Not God, for that relationship has been difficult lately. Not my husband Dave, though he is the human who understands me best of all. He already knows, so there's no point in that. Not my employer/ministry, for that relationship is wonderful and honest and complex and challenging and part of the problem and part of the solution, and the closest people to me there already know my crisis. Not my students, for I have stopped being vulnerable with them. Not my friends, as I don't have a many left. Not even my family, because they have their own stuff and I'm not completely sure anyone can understand the spiritual trauma (not to sound too dramatic) of my current condition unless you've lived it. Who does that leave? Me. I'm writing to me.
I'm writing to me because I have the propensity toward the creation of my own 12-step program, a sure-fire way to tackle my problem. I can clearly see all the things I should do to fix myself--busy, busy, busy--but I have the feeling that I need time. Space. Freedom. I hope to write myself a trail of stream-of-conscience bread crumbs which circles back to myself. Because somewhere along this way, I have lost something significant. But I don't know where, and I'm not really sure what.
So this is my 2-step program. Think, and write. And maybe shop.