First, isn’t that the weirdest word, rhythm? The spelling always slows me down. Rhythm. Rhythmic. Weird.

Anyway. I get so distracted. I’ve been thinking about this general pattern that happens in life, where everything ebbs and then flows. My work is certainly like that; I’ll go through periods of being inundated with new clients/patients, and then periods of absolute silence, no work. It’s gone on long enough that I know it’s somehow just the rhythm of things. I don’t know why all at once lots of people want editing, and then for a long time no one wants it, but it does seem to go in clumps.

When I was a kid, I’d have periods of absolute addiction to reading (that was the bulk of my time, for sure) with periodic brief lulls where I just felt so burned-out by reading I didn’t think I could bear to pick up a book. It also happened with the what of my reading: obsession with literary fiction to the exclusion of everything else, and then a profound disinterest in it, and all that felt interesting was nonfiction.

And handwork follows the same kind of pattern — the frequently-mentioned “loss of mojo.” I think it’s just the same kind of deal, this ebb and flow rhythm of things. When you enjoy doing a lot of different things, that helps; a period of boredom with knitting just means more time to spin! When my kids were young, there was always so much to do and so little time, I don’t remember this experience happening too often, because there wasn’t time to immerse myself in any one thing for too long. I made most of their clothes, smocked the girls’ dresses, was president of the spinner’s and weaver’s guild (and obviously I loved to spin and weave), I did some quilting – piecing and quilting entirely by hand, and aside from that, I played guitar and picked a little banjo, and made big meals every night and had to make everything from scratch because of my son’s severe allergy to corn syrup. Even our bagels. Everything.

And I find this ebb and flow happens in blogging, too — for me and for others. I’m in an ebb right now, and was in one for most of March, due to that flare-up of depression. (Does depression flare up? That sounds too active for such a down experience.) Now, though, I’m not depressed but I just talk myself out of writing whatever I think to write about. “Nah, that’s too boring.” “Trite.” “Who cares.” “Really? Really?” The closely-examined life can sometimes just be too closely examined, I think during these ebb periods. I love my life as it is, and don’t want to change anything fundamental about it, but it’s not a lively exciting life, filled with daily adventures and drama to share. I wake up between 5 and 6, usually, grind my beans and make some coffee, drink it while poking around online, then I sit and edit manuscripts all day long, until it’s time for dinner. I eat, we clean up, then I knit and we watch something together. Then I hit the sack.

Even this post is dull and uninteresting, but instead of talking myself out of it I’ll just click publish. I’m pretty sure I’ll move from ebb back to flow one of these days!