It’s been one of those weeks where I did not make space for myself. For my mind. For my thoughts. I packed the week with work and family. Numbers and monitoring and keeping people alive. With games and practices. And schedules.
With delivering people hither and yon. Then picking them up and starting all over. Deliver. Pick up. Return home. To laundry and cooking. And dishes. Damn you, dishes.
To groceries and menu planning. Summer camp planning. Paying bills. And filing bills. Thinking about taxes. Thinking about budgets. Thinking about tasks.
Clean this. Wipe that. Change this. Sort that. Do. Do. Do. (My nine year old would tell me I just said doo-doo if I read this out loud. And he would laugh…)
None of that makes for a memorable post. You see, I have learned over the years that I need space and time to think. I need to make space to allow thoughts to roam and bump. To connect in unexpected ways. If I cram my brain full of everything else and never allow space, then there is no bumping and connecting. There is simply a messy, crumpled, laundry list of the things I did.
That makes for fairly boring reading (and writing as it were).
If I were my own best friend I would tell myself to make space. Make space for nothingness and randomness. Make time for the unexpected to happen. Schedule the space, for goodness sakes, if you must. But make the space happen. Otherwise next week will be a similar sad state of things. And no one wants to read another list of to-dos. Or in this case, been-dones.
Make space people. Make space.
If I were my own best friend... 
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