My feelings as the Coronavirus Fear started to bite. (10 minute writing prompt.)
My truth is that I’m so fucking tired. I juggle all the things that I think I should. My face mostly calm while I do so – my feet gripping the tightrope – my leg muscles constantly adjusting to the tension of a new ball to juggle. Kids, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, dysgraphia, work, venues, customers – vegan customers, high maintenance customers, low maintenance ones – relationships, support, love, irritation, anger, laughter. I juggle all these things and more, and mostly I do ok.
But now a strange menace has crept into my arena and is pulling the tightrope, tugging it and pinging it.
Balls are dropping because of it and the first to drop is work. The strange menace is messing with everyone else’s tightrope too and they are dropping arrangements and parties and high maintenance queries.
I try and grab for the work ball as it starts to drop, but in doing so I almost drop the kids ball. I pull my hand back and grasp the kids ball tight. I don’t even need to think about which are the important balls to juggle as the tightrope jumps and moves. I keep the kids ball, the relationships ball and the writing ball close – everything else can drop for now while I balance these things on the bouncing rope.
The other balls are not gone forever and once the rope is steady again I’ll pick them up. And that’s ok.
I’ve made a new game of bouncing on the rope and acquired a new skill – I know what to drop, I know what to hold tight and I’m learning to balance. And as always I show up for my writing and my writing shows up for me.