***(I wrote this several years ago, on a St. Patrick’s Day. I had a full time job and young kiddos. And dreams. SO many dreams.)***
15 minutes for sanity.
I found myself with 15 minutes to spare this morning. 15 minutes to guiltlessly say no to distractions. The dishwasher is running, the washer and dryer are rolling, the beds never get made, and the child is dressed and mostly fed.
15 minutes to write. To write absolutely nothing important. But to feel the keys clacking under my fingertips, to feel the freedom of not having the next word until it magically appears from my brain and heart.
15 minutes of freedom for my sanity.
15 minutes to think about nothing and everything- only that which my brain wants to. 15 minutes away from my to-do list. 15 minutes away from makeup and outfits. 15 minutes away from finding a green shirt for St. Patrick’s day. 15 minutes to taste the lingering flavor of bailey’s that I slipped in my morning coffee in honor of St. Patrick- a man I never met and hardly read- but I honor all the same because it’s a cool thing to do.
15 minutes for sanity.
It’s now about 7 minutes. Already I feel the freedom slipping away. The reality of a job with obligations. When I have to ask for permission to attend to a family emergency. When I have to document a conversation about suicide so that everyone looks like they handled the situation right.
5 minutes to worry. 5 minutes to wish. 5 minutes to hope that my dreams of freedom are not some childish fiction, but an honest and valid reality.
3 minutes to dream. 3 minutes to fantasize. Travel. Interviews. Research. Writing. Hiking hills with my family. Eating from the garden. Being where I need to be when I need to be. Germany. Australia. Malta.
1 minute to daze. To feel the warmth of the sun on my face and be reminded of my valuable life that is a speck of sand (if that). To melt.
15 seconds, counting down to reality, the one I have created for myself. Is it what I want?
15 minutes to insanity.
