block broken.

i haven’t written a blog post since i arrived in australia. i haven’t really written anything. i think about writing a lot. the classic syndrome of a block. i have ideas, and then they fade away before i can capture them into letters. but last night i made a list.

  1. wake up
  2. drink glass of water
  3. drink glass of cranberry juice
  4. do oak tree meditation
  5. write a blog post

and so, here i am. after adding “make a smoothie” right before #4, i am at my computer pulling faces because for some reason i decided to add way too much beet to my smoothie. and it was canned. bad decision. i have learned my lesson, but i am still going to force myself to drink it. just like i am forcing myself to write.

since i sat down at my computer 20 minutes ago, i have already delayed writing by checking emails, doing some stupid survey to get bonus southwest rapid rewards points, and googling the benefits of beets. if i have to stomach this smoothie, it better be good for me. turns out it has several benefits:

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natural viagra eh? i am just feeling slightly queasy and dry in the mouth. maybe those are part of the listed side effects.

the she & him pandora channel is providing a nice soundtrack to this aimless stint of word-smithing. but that is what they tell you to do. they always tell you to just write. no matter what comes out, just the act of writing will help end your vacation away.

i remember getting really attached to a book called writing down the bones: freeing the writer within by natalie goldberg during my freshman year of college. here was this relatively short collection of chapters that was speaking directly to me. the writer within me. i’m pretty sure everyone who likes to write has probably read the book at some point in their life.

“keep your hand moving.”

i remember reading that somewhere in those pages.

and so that is what i am doing. and while you are reading this, you should probably follow a similar bit of advice…keep the eyes moving, quickly. don’t dwell on this blog post. there is nothing profound hiding in its folds.

there is another passage from that book that i recently recalled (of course i googled it, so you can read the real version and not my paraphrased sara interpretation):

“We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded. This is how writers must think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this is how we lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn’t matter…Recording the details of our lives is a stance against bombs with their mass ability to kill, against too much speed and efficiency. A writer must say yes to life, to all of life: the water glasses, the Kemp’s half-and-half, the ketchup on the counter. It is not a writer’s task to say, ‘It is dumb to live in a small town or to eat in a café when you can eat macrobiotic at home.’ Our task is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist – the real truth of who we are: several pounds overweight, the gray, cold street outside, the Christmas tinsel in the showcase, the Jewish writer in the orange booth across from her blond friend who has black children. We must become writers who accept things as they are, come to love the details, and step forward with a yes on our lips so there can be no more noes in the world, noes that invalidate life and stop these details from continuing.”

i am in that small town.

and it stilled my words because i thought i had nothing more to say about it.

but truly, i have embraced the desert this time around. i looked around and found things to do.

i took life into my own hands while alone at home all day. signed up for a dinghy sailing course and afterwards joined the yacht club. i even have plans to partake in their upcoming regatta.

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headed back into the bush of karajini national park on friday the 13th under a full moon to run through gorges, swim a lap across an ice cold pool of crystal clear water, and stay up celebrating ol’ smokey brods turning 28. we even ran into a family of scary zombies…

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met up with a couple of women retraining ex-race horses. spent the evening riding three different horses with three very different personalities as the red pilabra dust filled every single pore on my body, and the sun set bright red and pink and orange into the horizon.

sat outside under an umbrella and enjoyed a sunday morning brunch with my partner in crime at the silver star cafe, an old train car turned restaurant. a staple in the port hedland dining circuit.

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cooked proper meals that surprise even me. and yes, i’ve documented almost every single on of them. you can find that on my instagram, but here’s just one:

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stretched and breathed with the only yoga teacher in town who teaches one class per week about 20 minutes away from our house. and strengthened and toned with the one quality cross-training gym in south hedland.

so why do i feel like i have nothing to say?

my task as a writer “is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist.”

i spend all day alone in my home office trying to tackle the never-ending list of projects due to clients thousands of miles away. looking out at the big, fruit-barren mango tree through my calcium coated window, i miss my coffee shops and co-working spaces.

but this is the real of now. long days of work and short bursts of play. it’s not forever. and when it does get lonely, i find solace in online shopping for proper attire for the upcoming horse races (best dressed wins $1,000) and belting out my best renditions of broadway and disney musicals while chipping away at my to-do list. defying gravity has never sounded so good.

HOLY YES!

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