I carry my stress in my shoulders. It's a funny phrase, isn't it? Carrying implies choice, intentionality.

As if I would choose to keep my stress with me.

I run my hands over my shoulders and gently massage. The knots run deep and I wonder when they settled in for the long haul.

I'm in a fairly idyllic portion of life right now. It's hard to nail down a source for this tension. After all, most days I write and read and work on projects. These past 4 months have been a dream. I only have a few more months before playing at the writer's life transitions to working regular hours again.

But even then, those regular hours will allow for chunks of time to write. A choice made in June is paying off. I'm healthier, wealthier (in spirit), and wise.

I feel like myself once more.

There's pressure though, to have something to show for this time. I worry that I should have more to show for this luxury.

And yet, I can point to these touchstones.

57, 184 words written of my novel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of this month.

Availability for last minute babysitting during friends' complicated situations.

Sitting in the waiting room while a friend's husband has surgery.

Meeting friends with nonconventional work hours for coffee.

Reaquainting myself with my art supplies and creating once more.

Working on projects that have piled up.

There have been snags, to be sure. Deleting words. Ripping out stitches. Rescheduling plans. Watching more reality TV than is wise.

How do I make the most of this time?

The stress in my shoulders speaks to me, reminding me to be gentle.

When a week came in which my WIP refused to write itself, I gave myself grace. After all, I'd written daily for one reason or another for more than two months. That a writer's block eventually visited was not a surprise. I didn't write anything that week, though I made a few false starts.

The break helped. Posts are prescheduled here, pieces have been written for other sites, and the WIP keeps building on itself.

Pressure doesn't motivate me. Space does and I flourish.

So I rub my shoulders, kneading knots and tension and stress. I take another sip of Irish Breakfast tea. I look outside for awhile and allow myself to start slowly.

There is no rush.

Linking up with Heather from The EO's Just Write as we free write our ordinary and extraordinary moments.