Through one major project and two conference gigs, I’ve spent the past two months being pressed under the weight of responsibility, my thoughts rarely wandering from my workload. It was an albatross. It was always there. And now that it’s over, I am at a loss.
Which is not to say I didn’t look forward to being finished. I did. I did very much.
“Finally,” I thought. “I’ll be able to focus on something else.” Get back to writing. Get back to taking care of months of photography, of taking up all of the hobbies I had abandoned, to release my mind from the grip it had around projects and speaking and let go a bit. Exercise. Get some sleep. Kill the anxiety.
But I’m frozen. I’m stunned. I don’t know where to start.
I’ve spent the past two months being pressed under the weight of responsibility. I dug myself out from under it. I forced a tunnel out of the stress, and emerged at the other end, bathed in freedom, ready for the sun. Instead, all I can do is blink my eyes and ease back. All I can do is hunker back into the tunnel until I’m used to feeling normal again.