There are only ten more days until tax season comes to an end. I feel guilty each year because I don’t put in as much time as the others. There were years that I did, but I listen to my body. Even though I’m younger than the other two, their body’s seem more able to withstand the long days. But then I remind myself of my capacity to support our small team with all things administrative and with basic tax return input, and really there isn’t enough that I can do to work into the wee hours of the night as they do and they don’t’ seem to mind. And I know they appreciate the help I am able to give. I try to keep things in order, and so I put in my time as best I can.

This will be the first year of all the years I’ve been there, that I will only have gone in for one weekend and that will probably be this coming weekend. Maybe not both days; it will depend on where we’re at. I wanted to go in last weekend, but I wasn’t feeling well and stayed in bed both days.

This is also the first year where I’ve noticed that I’m not worrying as much. Usually, I would fret at how much work there was still to do and stress myself out. I would bring these worrying thoughts home with me and into my dreams. This year, I am just working through one thing at a time, sometimes juggling different tasks when the boss needs me to stop what I’m doing to do this or that.

I’ve gone in earlier in the mornings than my usual flexible part-time schedule, and so I’ve chosen to set my morning writing aside. Instead, I have dipped into whichever book calls to me from my windowsill in the mornings for a few moments; at night I dip into at least three and sometimes five, reading a few pages from each of my darlings.

For the first time in a long time, I found myself without thought, and it felt like a stranger. I often try to take advantage of moments where I can just be, such as waiting in a long line, walking, sitting, shopping, driving. And so last night in class, it happened during break. I usually take my journal out or read from a book I’ve brought, and sometimes I just sit there and listen to the hum of voices. Break went a little longer, so I sat there longer, not fidgeting, just sitting and being aware of my body and of my breath–in, out; in, out; breathing deeply from my belly, effortlessly; I rested my gaze upon the chalkboard, and then in between breaths, I realized that I was blank, there were no thoughts. I couldn’t believe it. I had to stand back from within myself and make sure I was seeing what I was seeing in my mind, which was nothing. What a beautiful and rare occurrence. It felt good. I continued to sit quietly in that moment with the wave of voices that seemed to be one voice in the sea of individual voices. I was enveloped in blank bliss.

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