I’m Going on Sabbatical

I’m embarking on a two-month sabbatical to rest and ask myself: Where have I come from, and where am I going? To answer this question, I know only one thing: I need to write.

Photo credit: Kyle Vonnahme

How can I convey the sense of urgency and near inevitability I feel to write? Maybe it’s how some of my friends feel when they’re carrying raw emotions and deep questions, and all they know to do is hide in a room with a guitar. Or strap on some running shoes and run as far and fast as they can. Or take a long, liberating drive blasting music with the windows down.

In the words of Anne Frank, “When I write, I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my courage is reborn! … I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things buried deep in my heart.”

It’s not that I “ought” to write, or that “it would be nice” to write. I must write. Only through writing will I resurrect my courage, to examine all the roots growing deep within me, to anticipate what shoots and leaves and blooms they aspire to unfurl.

Not to write is to let my life pass before me.

To return from sabbatical unchanged would be to find myself burned out again in 6 months, drifting further from myself each year without noticing.

And the years melt away quickly.