At the beginning of last week (Week 1 of this self-imposed distancing extravaganza attempt to flatten the curve and slow that bitch of a virus down at least a little in the short term) I was touching base with friends. There was texting, there were phone calls. There was communication of one sort or another.
As you may know if you've been reading my blog for any period of time, I am, at heart, a writer. Always have been. When I was in grade school and we'd have to write something, I would be jumping for joy and outlining and plotting. I guess writing is my first and possibly enduringly most powerful artistic outlet. I was born with the urge.
This urge has powered me through a career, has provided a therapeutic outlet, and remains a soothing pastime even now. So it's no surprise, when faced with the prospect of time and space unfilled with the normal clinic, patient care stuff I thought about writing.
An aside. My son is encouraging me to write about my mid-life shift from communications/marketing/PR for high tech companies to student, then practitioner of Oriental Medicine. He thinks people will care about that, but I'm not so sure.
I've begun my story, mostly to pacify him, but, as an old friend of mine recently said when I volunteered to ghost write his autobiography, 'I'm pretty sure I'm just not that interesting.'
We'll see. Faced with a WTF afternoon, a glass of wine, and the right music playing, I may decide to take it on in earnest.
Until then I remain stolid, just not totally motivated, and pretty sure I'm just not that interesting.
Have a lovely day, and huge hugs!
Stevie
As you may know if you've been reading my blog for any period of time, I am, at heart, a writer. Always have been. When I was in grade school and we'd have to write something, I would be jumping for joy and outlining and plotting. I guess writing is my first and possibly enduringly most powerful artistic outlet. I was born with the urge.
This urge has powered me through a career, has provided a therapeutic outlet, and remains a soothing pastime even now. So it's no surprise, when faced with the prospect of time and space unfilled with the normal clinic, patient care stuff I thought about writing.
An aside. My son is encouraging me to write about my mid-life shift from communications/marketing/PR for high tech companies to student, then practitioner of Oriental Medicine. He thinks people will care about that, but I'm not so sure.
I've begun my story, mostly to pacify him, but, as an old friend of mine recently said when I volunteered to ghost write his autobiography, 'I'm pretty sure I'm just not that interesting.'
We'll see. Faced with a WTF afternoon, a glass of wine, and the right music playing, I may decide to take it on in earnest.
Until then I remain stolid, just not totally motivated, and pretty sure I'm just not that interesting.
Have a lovely day, and huge hugs!
Stevie
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