I need…to take a deep breath. Because the minute I say I need, it feels like there is a rush of stuff that clamours for my attention.
The things the world says I need. (Some of which I might quite fancy at points.) But it feels like it’s things, things and more things.
I sit in the sitting room in the quiet, and look around at the debris of the week, still waiting to be cleared up, and think: is it just about more things? Because there seems to be plenty to sort out here already.
—
I take another breath. I need this quiet, this space to write. I need the end of the week, and the prospect of rest (or something approaching that). I need to tune in to what my thoughts may be telling me, because I discover that there is a path to the tapping of the keys, if only I can listen for it.
Breath. I need the slowing, the lack of chatter, even from my nearest and dearest. I need my thoughts to proceed from one thing to another to another, to find meaning in the progression, answers even, maybe.
I need to practise. I need to keep the words coming, because writer after writer after writer whose words I’ve read this year has said: the only way to get better at writing is to write.
I need good words. I do. It’s why I often read instead of getting going on my own words. I need the inward sigh of the right turn of phrase, the spark of contact when seeing someone express how I feel too.
I need thinking space. I could meditate, I could go for long walks, I could do other deep and pondering activities. But writing will do just fine as thinking space too.
I need perspective. Writing – and reading – these things give me that. The chance to take a step back, to allow the flurry of the day to settle into position. I need the opportunity to put down my pack and look around, and check the road I’m is the one I think I want to be on.
I need to realign. To come back to who I think I might be, at my core. Who I’d like to be, even. Writing does that for me. It helps me remember who I am and how I came to be here, and why certain things matter, and others don’t.
I need to agree that these are my needs – and that they are OK. They may not seem as pressing as making things fit in the freezer, or signing the school permission slip, or finding a new container to control the tidal wave of Lego.
I need to not be afraid of needing things too. And many of those needs are for the free things, the ones we so often sail past as we fill our days with the more concrete needs of our homes and our families.
I need time. I need quiet. I need thinking space. I need perspective. I need to realign. And I don’t need to spend money to do so.
But every now and then, I might also need some chocolate. Just to help with the perspective, you understand.