On limericks and peace.

We were in our final of four weeks of training; weeks of group projects, scenarios, discussions, lectures, theory, stories, problem solving, and what feels like a few hundred people met and committed to memory. It was a super beneficial time, to be sure; I was grateful to be there, to be learning, to be surrounded by supportive, helpful people who were bending over backwards to ensure I knew as much as my brain could hold and when that was full, that I would know who to ask for when I needed whatever spilled over.  But by that day, I had had enough, and when they sent us to big pieces of paper and markers and said work together to draw a creative representation of today’s activity, I just couldn’t do it.  I didn’t have it in me. 

I’m usually a rule follower but with a spark of rebellion, I went to a quiet corner of the room with a bit of paper and a pencil, and in about five minutes came up with my creative representation of that day’s activity. 

In Zomba we had to work fast
The crises were varied and vast
We worked as a team
Respect was the theme
(and) Not one single team came in last

It was silly, but in those five minutes of solitary creativity using my preferred tool (words, not markers), I felt a spark of life in me I hadn’t felt in quite a while.  It’s the same spark I feel right now as I’m writing this.   And I realized in that moment why I had felt so out of sorts, so over this training even though I knew how important it was, so uninspired and tired and going through the motions. 

Writing feeds my soul.  Solitary creativity with words, whether it be an essay like this one or a silly limerick like the one about Zomba (the fictional country we worked in for the day) or even just a really well-written, clear, nice-to-look at email fills me with joy and peace and that everything-is-alright-now feeling that is beyond explanation or description.  After being grouchy for a few days before the Zomba activity, after just five minutes and some word craft I felt like an entirely different person.

I knew I needed to write about it, and I knew I needed to make writing a more intentional part of my life… and then I sat on these words for three more weeks before actually giving them the time and space they deserve.  But it’s never too late to do the right thing, so I’m sitting here tonight, my fingers grateful to get these words out of me into the world where they belong.  It doesn’t even matter if anyone reads them, what’s important is the offering. 

My work is all consuming, and I love it.  But as I’m settling in and finding my space here for more than just a sprint, I know I need to allocate time to things that will keep me healthy for the long run.  Sometimes I think it'll be writing about life here and there and wherever I find myself. Sometimes it'll be writing a silly limerick. But whatever it is, as long as it brings life, I need to give it the space it deserves. 

So here we are. 

-K

Taken from the top of the Watergate Hotel on 18 August 2019