I’m lost—not so much lost in direction or place, but lost in focus and grounding. Let me explain.
I had been traveling. I love to travel even if it means driving. The past two weeks had put almost two thousand miles on my little car. My husband and I set up steaks in a condo on Hilton Head Island for the month of February. We are near the grandkids and the ocean. Within a few days, we experienced Disney (first time) and then visited with friends and family in Florida.
I usually pack light. One carriable knapsack for me and my sacred mini office bag. The mini office holds the Chromebook, wireless mouse, legal sized pads and clipboards with pockets, my journal, datebook, folders filled with notes, reminders, various sized post-its and a coveted array of pens. There is also the charger, an extra charger for my phone, business cards, and gum. Although I drove and enjoyed the adventures and company of my visits, I squeezed some writing time into the itineraries. I like to be prepared, so my mini office traveled, too.
On the last leg of the journey, I packed the car, kissed everyone goodbye, and off we headed back to Hilton Head Island. I had one urge to check my datebook for something at a stop, but decided it could wait. Seven and half hours later, I searched every corner of the car for my mini office bag. A call to my mom confirmed the bag sat waiting to be noticed on a dresser. Luckily, resourceful cousins had the bag packed and shipped via UPS in two days.
Eventually, this will be a happy ending, but in the meantime, I am lost without my stuff. My phone does not have updated calendar notes. I need to scribble in the notebooks to remember my place in the writing process. All my favored pens are in that bag!
Although writing is my voice and passion, I cannot compose adequately on a keyboard and screen. Perhaps I am giving away my age, but I need to handwrite rough drafts, jot ideas in the margins, and doodle. My mistakes have a line through them, because I just may need that brilliant sentence somewhere else.
Pens—I have a criterion for pens. These days, they must have a clicker I can annoyingly push up and down while waiting for words to form, a padded gripper, and a smooth ink flow. I also like to have a few colors available so I can visually differentiate scenes and characters I am working on. Even this little essay originated in free-hand scrawl. The particular pen I had to settle with while my mini office bag is in transit is too blotchy and slips easily. It looks sloppy and wandering—kind of like being lost.
Happily I found a notebook with a hardcover and a notepad to jot to-dos lists. Then I remembered my husband has his laptop! Perhaps I will hand write a scene for my upcoming book in the Becoming America’s Stories series (titled soon to be announced), after this essay is finished. One more day I should be found and grounded in one more day.
Stay safe, My Everyone!
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