The other day my friends described me as hectic. Intelligent and vibrant, they were lovely to add. But also hectic.
Hectic is not onomatopoeic. But the word does generate the feeling or action it labels. And I don’t really think hectic and anxious are great characteristics.
I agree with my friends. I AM hectic. I have been hectic for a while. The good side of hectic is perhaps where my vibrancy comes in. I love discovering new things, being challenged, rising to the challenge, being successful in my endeavours. I love people and exchange and inspiration. This is all good.
What I think is perhaps not so good are the reasons behind the hectic way in which I tend to throw myself at life. I have been doing it for the last 4 or 5 years. It is about distraction, proving a point, proving myself, filling in gaps, living in the moment, not allowing time for too much reflection. Perish the thought that I over-reflect.
This year I have felt less inclined to be hectic. And in the last four weeks even less so. Which inevitably has allowed for much of the completely self-indulgent reflection which has been evident in my recent posts.
Don’t get me wrong. I live a charmed life. There are just some areas I need to improve.
A blatant example of my hectic head is the fact that I have started four books, got halfway through each one, and then started a new one. I want to finish them. I particularly want to finish Hannah Kent’s book. It is so beautifully written and captures so vividly the Icelandic anguish of the protagonist. And it was a thoughtful gift.
My goal for the next three weeks is to finish all four of these books. To sit quietly on the red couch and absorb and appreciate the thoughts and writer’s craft.
And to replace hectic with thoughtful and aware presence and appreciation.