In yoga she keeps telling me about the space, this space. I hold on to it long after I shower, take a walk, make coffee, write seven terrible pages of fiction. I feel an intense peace despite the surrounding chaos. It is almost as if it cannot come close enough. Am I removed? Teachers used to tell me that, worried about my social skills. I am very aware. I simply refuse to let the panic creep in. We move in nine days. Everything is everywhere and the boxes sit waiting for me to make a move. The record is not finished. We move in nine days. No studio for months until the men rebuild it at our new place. Deadlines in every direction. Notes all over my desk, stories half written. Working two jobs that pay and two that don’t. Having a love life, a social life, a family life, a personal life. Finding time to write, always and most important. I wonder constantly where I will be next year. And yet, I see all of this happening and I am calm. I am the calm in rose colored glasses and frayed Jean shorts smoking a spliff on the curb out front.
Published by Erin Rose Belair
I am multi-genre writer specializing in travel, ad-copy, and nonfiction prose. A recent graduate with my MFA I am spending my new found time rambling around the world, practicing yoga, and searching for the best salad ever. View all posts by Erin Rose Belair