I drove along Main Street this morning, very slowly, wanting to observe the local businesses opening up for the day. I thought back to summers past, when I, too, would open the doors of Town Hall and sweep the steps and sidewalk leading out to Main Street, preparing for the first dance class of the morning. I reminisce quite often about the dance career I left behind two years ago, deciding to let it go after thirty-seven years – in order to make room for other things in my life. Of course, I miss it, but now I can focus more on grandchildren, my writing, and taking care of our rural property and home.

It’s not that I have copious amounts of free time on my hands, but it feels even more important now for me to pause and reflect and take time out for silence and stillness. And driving slowly along Main Street – taking stock of other’s occupations – somehow connects me to that ongoing current of livelihood. We’re all cogs in this massive wheel.

Now that my current YA manuscript about a dance studio is finished, for the moment, anyway, I’m sending query letters to literary agents seeking representation for my work. It’s not very exciting – on the computer clicking through screen after screen after screen, and logging rejections. This process saps my energy and leads to self-doubt, blurry vision, and a plethora of other rather unpleasant side effects. I know – poor me. What a sob story. Maybe I’ll start reworking another manuscript that’s been sitting a few years.

Since summer arrived, I seem to have hit some kind of wall. One that feels very foreign and a little scary. That usual “To do” voice in my head, which has been badgering me almost nonstop for practically my whole life, is much quieter now and not so insistent. Or perhaps I’m becoming hard-of-hearing as I enter into my seventh decade of life. Or just lazy? This lethargy, for lack of anything else to call it, is a bizarre new feeling. I’ve never been a procrastinator and I get things done in a timely fashion. By the way, there are down sides to this. Needing to constantly accomplish things is an exhausting, never-ending, vicious cycle, with very little down time. Once you finish one thing, and check it off your list, another one pops up in its place.

My manic work ethic is ingrained deep within me so when that inner voice became silent – I got worried. I still am. Being productive is intricately woven into my self-worth. It’s who I am. At least up until now it has been. But I’m trying to go with the flow more now while searching for any new types of hearing aids that may be out there to try. Meanwhile, I’ll meditate, wander in nature, watch the birds… They all help, but we’ll see. Let me know if you hear of anything.

Chi Varnado is working on a new YA novel about a dance studio. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com. You can follow us on www.Facebook.com/gnomewoodcanyon.