The sun is out today after a couple weeks of it hiding, taking my energy with it. I’m forcing myself to sit outside, take in the fresh air, and eat something besides pancakes. Clove is here with me and seems to have forgotten what being outside is like, too distracted to notice I’m eating carrots.
The sounds are a blend of what I’ve become used to in the present, and a pang of nostalgia.: Construction, cars driving by, a dog barking from a neighbor’s yard. Someone appears in our shared back-bit of nature with a plastic bag, and the sweet call of a morning dove quiets. I’m annoyed until I see they are picking up trash. I feel both shame for my reaction and gratitude that people still exceed expectation in simple goodness.
Clove is munching on her arugula and I, my carrots. A slight breeze waves the top of the container and disperses the sparse amount of loose fluff on her. This is good for both of us.
Maybe Spring inside of us is just as messy as Spring outdoors. With all of it’s back and forth, between freezing and melting, sunshine and gloom, our hearts go through it too. When will my chest pains push flowers from my bones, will this digging and searching inside yield the treasure I buried to hide through winter? Things are stirring in my soil, unseen. I guess I’ll keep seeking sunshine for my Spring.
The wind is making the trees dance in the setting sun. Spinning seeds find their way to me from an empty sky It is not quiet, yet it is peaceful. When this type of breeze makes my hair caress my arms and strands cross my face, I feel as if I must be important, strong. There is no booming, no cracking or roaring. Instead the power is quiet, soft and still beautiful.
I wonder if the wind has ever known where it’s going. As far as I can tell, it just goes. I want to be like the wind; beautiful in my collected chaos, freely fulfilling my purpose, not worried about where I’m headed.
There’s a storm brewing. I can feel it in the air as I right my toppled zucchini plant. It’s warm, windy, and the wildness creeps into my bones. I want to be wild and free like the flying leaves; soak up the adrenaline and be at fiery peace.
Tomorrow, my favorite weekend escape opens. I can be another version of me in a different world. Going to Renaissance Festival has always given me that feeling, the one I can’t quite put into words.
My imagination is renewed and a match held to the wick of my creative spirit. Maybe it’s that I don’t have to be what most people want me to be. Keeping to myself offends no one and I can slip between groups of people like a shadow, all the while taking in such delicious details.
I’m a little afraid of my excitement. A lot has changed since I was last able to attend, and I’m afraid it won’t infect me with that restful, childlike inspiration.
Do you ever get scared by being excited for something, just hoping it is as wonderful as you remember it?
Have a lovely weekend strangers and friends. Here’s hoping you get to revisit pleasant dreams and fall asleep to the sound of a storm.
This blog originally, was meant to push me towards my dreams. Those dreams seem both unclear and out of reach these days. I know I’m making progress, have things that I’ve dreamt of, and if I put in the effort and work, more could happen. I don’t know what is wrong. It’s like I’m stuck in a cycle of not belonging in my own life. That sounds crazy when you say it out loud but no other description quite seems to fit; always feeling out of place in my own existence.
Having time to rest, as well as get things done this weekend, has left me motionless. It’s not a comfortable lack of movement. Instead, I have no interest in things that, even a few hours ago I was excited about.
I started working on cutting out squares for a memory quilt of t-shirts that I no longer wear. It was really fun at first, taking up most of my focus, even hiding the fact that I needed to eat lunch. But as each new piece brought up memories, my mental energy and excitement from finally working on this project drained; processing multiple aspects of the times past. Being a very sentimental person doesn’t seem to have an advantage at any point in time. There’s a large chunk of time that I miss how things were, though they were hard. This is a different hard I guess.
Maybe it’s because a milestone birthday is coming up for me and I don’t see the change that I want to. Maybe it’s the fact that the things I want and don’t have, won’t “fix” this.
Anyone else experiencing a strange, empty, stuck feeling as we are slowly coming out of the pandemic? The general public that I attempt to assist during the week at my job, definitely appear to have been affected. Almost no one seems to be able to process the changes happening without taking out stress and frustration on others. I digress.
There it is: Existential crisis, a world in crisis, frustration with myself for having a hard time despite everything I’m blessed with. As I’m coming up on a new decade of my life, do you have any tips for a future that seems so uncertain? If you have felt the way that I am, what helped you?
Thank you for sitting with me, friends and strangers.
To make a dent in my never-ending to-do list, sometimes I have to trick myself with external motivation or a reward system. If I do a load of laundry, then I can eat an extra tasty meal instead of whatever is around. If I haul my trash out, I can sit and pet Clove for a little while and not think of anything else. A clean and organized living space is sometimes reward enough in itself. Attempting to push myself to get back on my grind today, I put on some upbeat music and blasted through cleaning my kitchen. Finishing that up by leaving an old potato in the little patch of forest behind my apartment, hoping that it will deter the critters there from feeding on my newly planted herbs for a little bit longer, it struck me. I really wanted to climb a tree.
So I did. Sap welcomed the grip of my hands on the branches and bare feet, testing my weight with each new step. The feeling of being a child again washed over me and I couldn’t help but smile as the breeze lifted a strand of my unrestrained hair to catch the bark. Looking out at a different height, far above my usual, the sun broke through the clouds and all of the little spores and seed fluffs floated past me, like a flock of fairies, merrily on their way.
I plan to climb that tree more often. It totally counts as exercise and certainly provides outdoor endorphins! Why is rock climbing normal for adults to do but it’s kind of weird for us to climb a tree?
I wish I could bottle the feeling that I was given climbing that tree barefoot, package barely noticing a scratch on my leg as I perch, transported to a different world within my own. That really is the idea that lives, nebulous in my head, if I ever start a business: Small boxes that give people a taste of different adventures through products that capture that essence. Include a written glimpse of story to go with it and suddenly you’re baking bread in a cottage while your cat swats at a butterfly through the open window. You’re perched in a tree, unafraid of falling because you’ve lived in the forest your whole life. The hem of your cloak follows your steps down the corridor of the castle as you make your way to convene the council. It is a beautiful (and far more detailed) goal in my head but there is much to do before starting a business. Maybe someday I can bring that dream to you in the world we live in.
Thank you friends and strangers for coming on this current adventure with me. Do something that revives the child in you this week, okay?
A breeze keeps blowing my loose strands of hair into my face and if I tilt my head just right, I can see a threading of web reflecting light through the blades of grass. The smell of someone grilling and the sound of birdsong mix now with the quiet clack of the keyboard. I am somehow in a different life but it is my own.
I haven’t read an actual book in maybe, over a year. Someone was kind enough to send me one off of my Amazon wishlist, suggested by my mentor. It’s so beautiful outside today again, after most of the week being rain and snow. Going on a walk is suggested but the mentally tired bug bit me earlier today and was not shaken. Resting outside, reading for the first time in forever, carding my fingers through the velveteen fur of my rabbit, has melted the work day away.
It’s not just any book either. It’s not an escape (which I am constantly seeking) or a cover up. It requests that I face reality and ask myself hard questions.
we need to figure out where we are before we plot a course forward
Bob Goff – Dream Big
I am urged to open my eyes, take a clear look at everything I think about myself and why, sort through my desires and ambitions as if doing an internal spring cleaning, and truly put in the work to make my life what I long for it to be.
No more doing what merely occupies, entertains, and numbs us?
Bob Goff – Dream Big
Can you be honest with yourself? How difficult is it for you? As the light fades into evening and the breeze becomes chilled, I will go back inside but take these questions with me.
From only three chapters into the book, I already highly suggest it. Have you heard of it? Read it? Dream Big by Bob Goff
I wrote the excerpt below, about nine years ago. I did not own a piano. I did not have my own place to live.
Someday, in my made up future, I will wake up to the birds singing and the sunlight streaming through my window. Smiling, I will slip out from between my covers and stretch, fingers towards the ceiling, before walking into the kitchen. I will make myself a delicious, healthy, breakfast and eat it outside in the morning air. After putting the dishes away, getting dressed, and pulling my hair back, I will go and sit down at my deep, black, grand piano and let all of my thoughts and feelings flow out of my fingertips until they echo in the air. Maybe I will laugh, a smile on my face. Maybe I will cry, tears escaping with each note. And after I’m done, and there is nothing left to be said, I will close that gorgeous piano back up. I will close the doors to the room where the emotions still hover thick in the air, and I will step into the breathtaking sunshine. Eyes closed, I will listen, waiting for your response.
Reading this poem now, I can see that my dream for my future has pretty much become true. There are no doors to close my piano into it’s own room because I live in a (wonderful) studio apartment. There was no chance that I could purchase my bucket-list instrument, but my grandmother willed me hers.
This was a reminder I needed.
I hope you enjoyed a peek into some of my very old writing.
I wonder, if someone was to write the “forward” to my life right now, what would they say?
I have such an overwhelming desire to create, to push my boundaries, stretch my wings and see how far they can take me. I want the time to devote to these pursuits, to learn and grow.
This pandemic has given me so much but also left me wondering where can I really go from here? I would love a creative field to be my sustaining career but currently, I work in an office position that drains me emotionally and fills my bank account better than any previous employment. I have ideas that I want to test and joy that I want to bring to people but my energy after a work day is close to zero and my weekends are spent trying to catch up on the “adulting” to-do list, taking care of myself, and preparing for the week ahead. This does not leave much room for the things that I am passionate about.
Does anyone out there have any advice on this? The logical, responsible, side of me says, this is how it is and you just have to do the 9-5 thing in order to be taken seriously, to properly provide for yourself, and to make anything of yourself in society’s eyes. The other side of me, high on imagination and dreams, keeps saying that there must be a way to make it possible. This blog is the only step I’ve been able to take in the direction of my dreams lately. I don’t know if it will be able to ignite the others and bring them to life as well, but it’s a step.
My very idea of what I would want to do for my own creative business rests in the idea of a mental escape. We all need that excitement, that adventure and glee, like the kind you get from immersing yourself in another world through a good book or a fantastical movie. Not all of us can go study at an elite university in Europe, get caught up in a dramatic love, worthy of poetry that lives through ages of history. Not (any?) of us were born royalty, struggling to make the right decisions for our kingdom, while pacing the halls of our castle in elegant garb. There are some who live in cottages or on farms, surrounded by the quiet morning until it is pierced by the rooster announcing arrival of a new day. Dark, hidden hovels, tucked into the lush forest, rafters strung with herbs and the aroma of fresh bread, all of these beckon to me as lives I do not have but want a taste of.
I’ve been trying to bring bits of, pieces of, these feelings and ideas into my own life as much as I can. The way the sun shone on a stand-out piece of moss or the mud squished under my boots, on my walk with a friend, these are things that I find myself clinging to.
There are many things for me to be grateful for, many provisions, I just wonder, if I reached out, could I touch the stars?
Thank you for reading my brain explosion/rant/excitement. If you work in a creative field that is considered much less likely to “succeed” by society, (artists, musicians, creative writers, etc.) do you have any suggestions?