When Will I Find the Time
by Monica Sharpe
Today
I stopped writing
to make coffee
to read the newspaper
to shower
to put a load of wash in
to water the outdoor plants
to check the mail
to pay a bill
to send a birthday card
to call a friend
to put the wash in the dryer
to vacuum
to mend a snagged sweater
to make lunch
to fold laundry
to go for a walk
to check my email
to answer a letter
to plant flowers
to make a cup of tea
to run errands
to make supper
to check my email
to put laundry away
to shut off the computer
and then I wonder
at the end of the day
where I will find time
to write great things
This poem depicts how some days, my busy little activities along with the more serious commitments nibble away at my concentration. I get mad at myself when I cannot achieve a significant number of words, whether it is in the form of a poem, a short story, or my novel. Trouble is, I want it all. I want to make more quilts. I want to produce more stained-glass projects. I want to be like Martha Stewart in and around my home, and I want to paint with ease like Bob Ross.
It occurred to me that my mother was at heart an artist. She never had idle hands. She crocheted tablecloths, afghans, doilies, and baby clothes. She was a seamstress and designed her clothes. She wrote songs and stories. She could draw. She did a lot of different things, a little bit. As I recognized this about my mother, I also saw myself. I know how to do many things, a little bit.
A fellow writer told me that the achievement of a mature artist is a balanced life. We need the benediction of daily necessities, such as cleaning, gardening, cooking and playing. Ordinary life informs our writing, heals our spirits, and keeps us from going, simply nuts.
Maybe, I will never turn out to be the notable writer I dreamed I would be some day, simply because I want it all. There are too many forms of self-expression and so many things I enjoy and want to do. So, until I can figure out what venture will come next, I will take another walk and think about what I will write about next, then try my best to “induce the artistic coma.”
I wish I was more creative as you!