It’s hard to stop, isn’t it?
Hard to move against the forward momentum of your days and just stop. To mark a full stop in the prose of your days.
More than just a comma, more than a pause for a quick breath in the middle of the sentence of your life. A full stop. The end of something that allows space for breath and thought and reflection and savouring before the next begins.
A full stop. To be. And think. And rest.
I like to think that we live fairly quiet lives with space for full stops woven into the rhythm of our days. But for a while now the momentum has been building, partly due to external circumstances not of our choosing, and partly because of our decision to move back to Australia.
It feels like the story of my life lately has been one long punctuation devoid sentence gaining giddy momentum with packing up lives and wrapping memories in brown paper with string and storing mental snapshots of everyday life as it swirls around me while still working and making lunches and cooking dinners and hosting visitors and folding washing and helping with homework and wondering whether I’ll have space to emotionally connect in a meaningful way or whether my mind will be singularly focused on mentally ticking of my to do list as I board the plane before flipping over to another task list once I get off at the other end and unpack our bags and create a home and settle the children in school and then maybe with a hopeful heart I’ll have time for a full stop.
But now a full stop has come mid-sentence, most unexpectedly. I have been lying on my back for the past four days. Reading. Thinking. Praying. Dreaming. A full stop imposed on me by a very sore back and strict instructions from the physiotherapist to rest.
It’s not easy stopping against the forward momentum of days.
But now that I’ve slowed, I’m thankful for this lovely little unexpected punctuation mark. This full stop.