Finding my land legs

When ideas begin to run dry after two straight months of writing, the mornings feel oddly quiet. During the two months at sea, I woke with a purpose: to notice, to describe, to turn small moments into something worth sharing. Now, back in Lübeck, I wake to stillness. My writer self seems to have stayed somewhere out there on the bridge, pacing with the officers or watching the horizon.

The return home has been lovely, of course. There is comfort in the ordinary: the morning cup of tea, the noise from the street in front of our apartment, the softness of beds that do not move. And there is the return back to the warm embrace of family and friends. How loyal and resourceful they have been in keeping me updated on the goings-on of their lives. They read my blog posts and listened to the podcasts and sent me ever so encouraging messages to forge on.

So why this vague melancholy, this sense of disorientation that lingers? Part of it is simple. At sea, life was distilled. Every sound, every sight had weight. There was purpose in the smallest task. Now, everything has expanded again. My attention scatters in too many directions.

A friend of mine in Singapore put it best this morning. We were talking about sea legs, the way you learn to constantly move with the ship until it becomes second nature. She said there is an equal process when you come back ashore. “You have to find your land legs again,” she said. “The ground feels wrong for a while because nothing is moving under you.” I like that idea. Maybe this restlessness is simply the land asserting itself again.

Still, I miss the focus the sea demanded. Out there, I could walk for an hour on deck, thinking only of the next sentence. The motion of the ship carried my thoughts as surely as it carried the cargo. Now I sit in my study and watch the trees stand perfectly still, their leaves slowly changing to autumn colours.

Perhaps what I need is to learn to be still again, to see if ideas can float up without the sea’s help. That will take time. I do not want to rush back into the Gulf Stream of busyness that used to define my days. I want to keep writing, even if I do not yet know what about.

For now, I am still between worlds, half afloat, half on land, trying to find my footing again. My sea legs are gone, but the land ones are not quite here yet. With any luck, they will meet somewhere in the middle.