Day 8 / Reading Deprivation & Running Slip Ups
Creativity unlocked, ankle slightly less so
Vegetables chopped: 329 (eat your heart out Nigella)
Minutes spent hovering Substack publish button: 4 (v impulsive, not v Capricorn)
Words publicly available: 671 (eeek!)
Size of right ankle: large orange meets small apple (not ideal)
A good day. A frustrating day.
Thanks to my effectively empty hermit schedule, I’ve now worked through to Chapter Four of The Artist’s Way (more on this here).
So far I’ve enjoyed it. Lots of reflection. Silly exercises. Feeling a quiet creative release.
But this week’s chapter is all about reading deprivation. Forgoing books, emails, newspapers, articles - anything containing the written word.
Hmm. Reading is a big (and joyful) part of hermit life. But I guess that’s the point. Strip away other people’s words and you’re left with space. Boredom. Your own thoughts and words bubbling up.
And you know what, it kind of works.
Substacking
My hermit mornings tend to start with morning pages, journalling and The Artist’s Way weekly exercises. Inwards. Introspective.
I have been toying with the idea of sharing something more public but, the million dollar question, where to start?
Then as the reading deprivation kicks in, I spend more time just sitting. Watching the sea. Cooking some time and chopping intensive recipes. Slowly, the itch consolidates. An idea takes form.
So this morning, I took out a notebook and started to write. Jotted down ideas. Tried to put a little piece of my experience out there, just as much for me as much as anyone else.
The first post, a short introduction to The Hermit Diaries, comes together quickly. A weaving together of scattered thoughts.
From there, I sign up to Substack. Play with some colours (yay fun) and start typing. Just like that, post one is done.
And you know what? It feels good. My mind is both quieter and starting to fizz with more ideas.
I read it back and think, just post it. Get it out there. See what it brings in.
And so I do. Publish. Send. It’s live.
Running
Riding a bit of a high, I decide to take my (until now, unused) running shoes out for a whirl.
The sun is just starting to set over the island. Soft light over the flattening blue sea. I cue ABBA and follow the road towards my goat sunset spot.
I used to run a lot and still think of myself as a runner. But over the past few years, I’ve gone from one running injury to the next. So this is my first time in months and wow oh wow does it feel good.
Slowly the road winds up, up and away. The instant rush of endorphins is magnified by cliffs catching the evening sun. An open road all to myself. The breeze salty on my face.
Pure unadulterated joy.
I reach the western tip and cut through the pines. Gold light dapples the dry grass and a blanket of tiny white flowers.
To my right, a sheer cliff drops down to the wild Aegean and straight ahead, I glimpse a lighthouse. I make towards it just as ‘The Winner Takes It All’ comes on.
I am Donna. The lighthouse is my chapel. No sight of Pierce but the sunset is everywhere now. It feels almost spiritual.
I don’t see the rock but I do feel my entire leg buckle as my ankle rolls and sends me careering sideways. A strange and instant numbing sensation spreads from foot to thigh.
I make it to a rock and roll it out. The feeling returns in deep throbs and it looks like I won’t be making it to the lighthouse today after all.
Eventually, I try standing. Ouch. But walkable.
It’s a long and slow (although thankfully downhill) schlep back home. But it’s a warm evening and the island is a blue smudge of sea, land, and sky.
Besides, I’m a (now hobbling) hermit with nowhere to be and only a long evening of reading deprivation and icing my ankle ahead of me.
So in the words of you know who: Andante Andante - tread lightly on my ground.