This Summer I Didn't Write; I Ate A Bagel

A friend asked me if I’ve written anything new recently. In typical “Della” fashion, I went into “responsible mode,” and answered with the one-liner I always use when confronted with a work question: “It’s been a busy summer…you know…the kids…driving them around, etc.” The truth is, I haven’t written anything all summer because I’ve been too busy working on my mental health and dipping my pinky toe into the fun side of life, and I am so glad I did.

Before you jump to any conclusions, this is NOT a midlife crisis, nor am I going rogue, leaving my children or my husband. All is amazing on the home front. This summer, I allowed myself to experience what most “normal” people take for granted. Because, as an immigrant and a caretaker for decades, I’ve mastered how to survive, not how to thrive.

When school let out in June, I packed away my work laptop, cleared my desk, and sat there, morning after early morning, staring at my coffee cup and a blank piece of paper. I had lofty goals. I was going to write one blog post a day and record videos (because I am trying to be cool like that). I was going to work on my book and pitch a few stories as well. Instead, I wrote nothing—zip, nothing, nadda, except for one blog post on June 24th.

It wasn’t intentional. Those who know me know that I am driven by purpose. I love lists, goals, deadlines, and projects. I love being busy—ALL THE TIME. But after writing that one blog post, I realized I was forcing myself to create. It wasn’t so much writer’s block as an overload of thoughts, ideas, inner struggles, doubts, fears—all the emotions that leave someone exhausted and gasping for air. And, I was gasping for a lot of air.

In the past, I would’ve curled up in one big ball and beat myself up for being a lousy writer and an impostor. Although writing defines my being and my existence, this summer, I felt I needed a diversion to do what I love to do with passion, not obligation. I wanted to step out of my bubble and peek into a world that always seemed too superfluous for my liking.

First, I turned off all my news and social media notifications, so I could get rid of all the cacophony and idiosyncrasies and focus on myself and my thoughts.

Although I am not into self-help books or motivational speakers, I stumbled upon Mel Robbins' books and podcast by chance and fell in love with her no-nonsense message (I highly recommend you check her out). I ended up buying all her books and devouring them.

Rather than complain about driving my son to and from football practices almost every day (thanks to the mom squad who helped with carpooling), I took him and his buddies to lunch afterwards and listened to them chat about football plays, compare music playlists, and share TikTok clips.

I talked to my friends in Lebanon every single day—sometimes twice a day, and enjoyed reminiscing about old times and reconnecting in a way I never expected I would after an absence of more than three decades.

I enjoyed driving with my daughter in her new car. We went shopping, got manicures, sipped lattes, chatted away late into the night, and watched mindless TV.

My husband and I took our first solo vacation in 16 years while the kids were away at camp, and just let everything else wash away (that’s for another blog).

This summer, I did nothing—nothing that in my typical “Della Dictionary” would be considered momentous. Yes, I taught a couple of classes at Oakland Community College and a few workshops for The Detroit Writing Room, but for the majority of the time, I allowed myself to have fun.

I allowed myself to meet a friend and have a cocktail (or two) at noon if I felt like it; I ate a bagel (or two) without worrying about gluten or extra pounds; I read fiction (again—not my genre) because it was fun and not for work; and did things I’ve avoided doing for years. It felt great to tune out all the negativity and negative people, avoid drama, and be free to be who or what I want to be.

For most of you, these things I consider “fun” may seem ordinary—even boring. I didn’t jump out of planes, travel across the world, or get drunk. But, if you’re like me and all of you’ve done for most of your life is survive, then this summer was a self-revolution because it allowed me to reconnect with my true self, and accept that it’s ok to take a break when needed, to put myself first, and to think about life as a stream of opportunities rather than a hard deadline.

Yes, I missed writing, and can’t wait to get back to it, and back to teaching as well. But my new routine has a different look and feel. It’s now fueled by genuine passion rather than obligation. It’s the feeling you get when you let your shoulders relax, lift your head, stare into the horizon, and embrace your calling and your true self.

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