Loath to Travel

I've been traveling a lot this year when I should be writing. There, I said it. It's hard not to feel guilty.

It started in Banff in February, then Charlottesville for work in April. In May, Chris and I were in Victoria for his sister's wedding and in July I went to Barbados to visit with old friends from high school. Last weekend I was in Prince Edward County and in a few weeks I'm headed to Montreal for a wedding. Luckily, after that, there's nothing else in the calendar. 

I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all the time spent with family and friends away from home. I've written before about how tough I find travel. Being on the go and away from my routine is difficult. The last few months have forced me to be more protective of writing time than ever. They've also forced me to be more forgiving of myself. Any other type A writers out there struggling with perfectionism? I'm a zealot for routine, often in ways that make me hard on myself. Swinging in and out of structure is difficult to say the least. 

If I'm honest with myself, between work, rewrites and new material, 2018 is probably my highest word count year ever. And I've gained other things from all those trips. When you take time off, you sacrifice quiet, introspective time for a bit of adventure. For nature and hikes and seeing things you hadn't before. For conversation and working on your intense fear of flights. On the plus side, I'm finally starting to get over that fear of flying (falling) and airports (crowds).  

In whatever spare time I can find, I'm trying to focus on old work, new work and refining career type things. Sorry to be so abstract, there will be news coming soon.