He had been so happy playing with the ball, watching it bounce again and again, out in the Autumn sunshine. When the adult told him it was time to come inside, time for Circle Time, he found it hard to register her words fully. The ball was still there, big and bright and bouncy. He wanted to stay in the sunny afternoon, with the leaves swishing around the playground, and the sweetness of being absorbed in the simple pleasure of the ball. It took a few words, gently spoken – “ball is finished now” – and the removal of the ball, for him to begin to transition himself through to the next part of his day.
I feel a little like the little boy with the ball at the moment. I have been working on a book for a few years, in an unhurried but absorbed way. I still don’t know if it’ll be published or not, but I have kept writing it, for the same sort of reasons the boy was playing with the ball: enjoyment, and presence, and the loveliness of being deeply engaged in something.
But I have been putting off the finishing of it: the final list of references, the last few edits, and the pursuit of a publisher. I guess I have struggled to let it go. I am a little fearful, not so much about how it will be received, but more of the space left in its wake, and the transition to something new.
I sense that it is time to finish. It is time to put that last full stop on the page, to send the email that may or may not give the book its wings, and ultimately to let it go. Working on it was lovely and absorbing and satisfying. At times, it was like I was typing for survival. But it is time to finish, and in the space that follows, I sense that something else is getting ready to bloom.
Life Lived 