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I am quiet this morning and waiting. The day, crisp and blue, beckons yet I do not dress, call the dogs, and venture forth.  The novel is with an editor and until she gets back to me, there is little to do.  Unlike many, I have never been able to take on more than one project at a time.

In the studio, work awaits — another commission and a replacement piece for a sculpture recently sold — but I am in no hurry to finish them. In spite of my deadlines, waiting is exactly what I need. Every field must go fallow for a time.

Over the years, I’ve learned to enjoy the quiet moments and savor the richness of days without intent. Noticing more, slightly stirred by currents above and below the surface, I am heightened without the frenetic energy that generally accompanies my creative outpourings.

These are the times I journal and read, linger over clouds, and study branches in the wind. Perhaps I’ll make a soup, call my mother, or get a massage. Perhaps I’ll do nothing at all.

I’ve often said that creative blocks are the crossroads where what we know and want to know meet, but I think blocks are often confused with regeneration. They are not the same.

A block requires us to listen to the work. Regeneration demands we listen to the silence in ourselves. They are both essential in the creative process.

The novel, a seven month intensive, ripped me raw, shredded my confidence, and inflamed my passion. Consumed, I worked 70 – 80 hours a week. I drained myself completely and now need to refill, replenish, and renew.

This time is like a weekend at home alone. Free from clutter, demands, and noise, I mend from the onslaught. When the book returns I will greet it with love. Open armed and rested, my embrace will be warm and slow.

How about you? Do you take time to regenerate? What are some of your favorite ways to replenish yourself? I would love to hear your thoughts.