A Lost Poem and An Invitation to Rest

I lost today’s poem.

I started writing it a few weeks ago. Yesterday I sat down to edit and upload it here to Wednesdays at the Well and couldn’t find it. I was pretty sure I’d started it by hand. Scribbling on the last few empty pages of a yellow legal pad. It wasn’t there. Maybe it was in that other notebook, the blue one, where I jot down ideas for future poems and stories. It wasn’t there. Okay, let me try that lime green journal of random thoughts. Not there.

Maybe I started it in the Notes app of my phone or iPad or on my computer, which I seldom do, but let me check anyway. No. Not there. Or anywhere that I could find. I know I wrote a poem about the end of PRIDE Month and the official start of summer. And why it even matters. But where is it? What did I do with it?

I was so frazzled and upset. Crying like I lost a friend. I couldn’t even recall the first line in an attempt to rewrite it, which is so not like me at all.

Lately, more often than not, I haven’t felt like me at all. Maybe it’s the pressures of publishing and launching a book. The never-ending attempts to market and promote it. The anxieties and costs of being self-employed. The death trap of comparison. The insanity of social media. The comment section and unsolicited warnings from strangers about the sins of queerness and pride.

Maybe it’s the little griefs that appear unexpectedly. That small shake of salt in a wound you thought was healed. A collaboration that doesn’t go as planned. An invitation you counted on that isn’t extended. A promise that isn’t kept. Unanswered messages. Unreturned inquiries. Submissions that are never even acknowledged as received.

Today’s poem isn’t the only thing I’ve lost. My rhythm is gone too. And the only way to get it back is to re-create it. I’m not suffering from writer’s block. It’s more like a case of who am I as a writer? What stories am I writing and for what purpose? What if the answers to these questions are changing?

What do I do with that glimmer of hope shining in a surprising place? That appealing opportunity I hadn’t imagined? Those first seeds of growing in a different direction. Wait a minute, that’s not where I thought this was going! It’s all exciting and completely exhausting. Most days mostly exhausting.

This Sunday, I’m preaching at a wonderful welcoming church and sharing more about Not My Grandmother’s Hymnal in a discussion group after the worship service. I’m really looking forward to this. And when the weekend is over, I am taking some time away. Away from Substack. Emails. Facebook and Instagram.

And I am taking some time with. With myself. Nature. A kayak. A waterfall or two. Neglected tasks around the house. People I love. Other poets’ poetry. Those novels on my nightstand.

Over and over again, I am learning that real rest is not simply a nap, or a few hours of quiet, or a vacation, or an expensive retreat. It’s not haphazard, but intentional. Not accidental, but deliberate. It’s breathing. And listening to your own breath. It’s honoring your exhaustion and not repeating those unsustainable patterns and practices. It’s holding the excitement and letting yourself imagine where it could lead without having to have all the details figured out.

It’s knowing that the PRIDE poem is somewhere out there and so too is my joy and purpose and rhythm. They are not lost, just waiting for me to come join them for a rest.

So, I will see you again in August. With new words. New water. And perhaps the start of a renewed vision for what this space and my continued sharing here will be.

Tenderly, Rebecca

---

For the month of July, paid subscriptions to Wednesdays at the Well will be paused. Monthly paid subscribers will not be charged during this time. For annual paid subscribers your expiration date will be extended by the length of the pause.

If you haven’t already, here’s your personal invitation to order a signed copy of Not My Grandmother’s Hymnal. Click here and use promo code PRIDE26 to save 10%.