It began in New York and ended back home. The last half day of the writing workshop came and went. We wrote another book. I suspect that Lynda wanted us to know that what we'd done the day before was not an aberration.
Saw an old friend. Spent time at two farm markets and a grocery store. Came home to a dark house. Ate Chinese food at my kitchen table, with only the light of darkening skies after sunset. Wrote my blog with one-finger-typing on an iPhone and held my breath as it finally posted. Fell asleep to the sound of a dog that barked for hours.
The electricity was restored sometime overnight.
I thought about checking into a B & B before I left New York and spending an extra day. Yesterday was beautiful and it would have been nice to have enjoyed a glass of wine on the patio of a nice eatery somewhere. But there's something about the momentum of coming home that drives me forward once I'm on my way.
It wasn't until I was sitting at my kitchen table this morning reflecting on the last week that I felt the intensity of the work I'd just completed. Twenty-five rigorous hours of fierce writing over five days. We wrote in 2 1/2-3 hour segments, and each of those was divided into four-eight minute bursts of timed writing. I also wrote and posted to the blog every day and wrote in my morning pages journal all but one day I was away.
A true immersion.
Beyond these reflections I have no thoughts, and I've given myself a few days to integrate this experience quietly at home, and to decide the practices I will choose to maintain.
The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.
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