Creative Block

Whelp, my body has told me something loud and clear:  I am in a creative block.

I haven't had a big push to write, aside from my self-imposed deadline.  I haven't be able to draw.  I don't feel like making music, aside from humming along with whatever I'm doing.  

I know the crux of the problem originates in a couple of pieces that I simply have not had the time, the words, or the conditions to finish.  AND YET until I am able to get this particular piece out of me, I don't seem to be able to make much else, at least not with the ease I have in other places.

So, writer's block.  How the hell do we deal with that?  Or if you're not a writer but understand that creative rut, how do we get out of it?

For me, one of my best methods is to write anyway.  The words tend to fill themselves in, even if it's just a few paragraphs complaining that I can't find the right words.  But the act of writing puts me in a better space to write.  It's the like gym:  the hard part is actually getting there.

Another method--switch mediums for a while.  Go plunk something out on the piano or find a new recipe or pull out the crayons for a bit and color.  Just make something.  Add something into the world that wasn't there before.  Then, at least, the pressure has lessened, letting a little air out of the balloon of expectations you've set for yourself.  This also helps preempt the shame cycle elements, where the frustration of not creating something turns into self-criticism and exacerbates itself into a spiraling pit of self-doubt and blah. 

Finding something physical to do for a while helps, too.  That can be going for a walk or even a long drive or going to the gym, just something where you cannot be doing much else because you are doing that thing--can't check your phone when your hands aren't free to do much with it or if you strategically left it behind.  For me, that's part of the joy of swimming--I do not currently have a means to even listen to music while I perform my laps, let alone check social media.  

Taking a break is okay, too.  Healthy, even.  Provided that it does not further that frustration cycle--if you can give yourself the grace to have a break, do it; if that's going to make things worse, try setting a very defined break (e.g. taking one week off) and then come back after.  For me, a deadline is helpful--I have established that I'm not quitting forever, just taking a break--but for others it makes things worse.  Whatever combination works best for you will vary by situation, even for the same person.  It will take a certain level of self-awareness to sort out the right one.  

Unless I'm on the taking a break tack specifically, though, I feel it's important to keep creating.  Not creating, to me, is physically painful when left too long.  I need to make things.  If I'm not stringing words together somewhere or building something with my own hands for too long, there is an anxiousness that I cannot quiet.  That anxiousness becomes a pressure.  That pressure can trigger some shame cycles or otherwise just sit there steadily swelling in the back of my mind.  Some catharsis is needed.  It's like needing to eat.

And like eating, there are different dietary needs, certainly, but I feel that most everyone has this urge but to different degrees or by calling it a different name.  I very much believe that creativity is applicable to far more places than it isn't, meaning I don't have to do traditional "art" to be meeting that creative need.  

Figuratively, I'm burnt out on one of my favorite foods at the moment--I'm going on clear liquids to let a few things reboot and then steadily adding pieces back into my normal diet again.

It will pass.  It always does.  And I allow the wave to move through (begrudgingly more often than not).  It's a chance for some new discovery in the meanwhile.

Holiday Doldrums

I was speaking with my therapist in early December, and we were settling about scheduling.  I made the suggestion that we go ahead and schedule into January, acknowledging that he was probably going to fill up pretty quickly this time of year.  He agreed emphatically that it was a good idea.  My follow-up question then was firstly how he was taking time for himself this year, and then a question I didn't expect to have a solid answer for:  "knowing that people seem to need you more in this season, how do you balance that tension between what you need and being there for us?"  The short of the answer was "as best I can."  I mean, I empathize with that tension, but I don't have as many persons dependent on it--I'm a freelance emphathizer, maybe?  I know I cannot fully understand the outside pieces of how that balance works, but I was definitely thinking more about my own.

We're winding down a season at the moment.  There's a feeling of transition, frustration, and no small amount of hurting that seems to be present in my circle right now.

Some folks are starting to pull out of it now, but there is no small amount of lingering exhalation that needs to happen.  Somewhere in the second or third family gathering for Christmas, I recognized that I did not have as much emotional energy to spend as I had thought.  There were some missing recharge moments.  There were a few last minute adjustments that were not factored in.  There were extra errands when shipments delayed one package or another.  Different places had different hours that broke the routine.  Many, many small pieces came together to be collective frustrations.  And at the same time, it's good to reconnect with family and see folks again, and how can one complain about that?  There's an odd mix of gratitude, joy, and frustration that roll through in waves.  Guilt is often closely on the tail of frustration, just for color.

I needed to stop and do some self-inventory, but it didn't feel like there was time.  Or more honestly, I was afraid of the answer.  I didn't even have my body to blame this time.  I hit my wall and pushed forward anyway. There was a conscious choice in those moments.  

So I scheduled in another few miles in the pool.  And some very intentional writing time.  And some forced pauses, for air and for somatic assessments.  I came to three conclusions:

1. I have not been factoring my emotional load from work to its fullest potential--there's still a fair bit of adjustment to resolve regarding my change to management.  I need to find a more efficient way to carry this, because I know that the baggage does not magically disappear. 
2. I did not buffer the events adequately--having a short bit of time in between events to process them fully, that makes a difference. 
3. I did not check in with myself while the events were happening.  This one is the real kicker, I think.  I didn't talk to myself while things were happening.  There needs to be some actual conversation between the parts of myself, in order to meet the needs of the situation.  Some parts of me would have been appeased just to have been acknowledged, frankly.  I was present in the moment and yet inadvertently leaving parts of myself behind, meaning that other areas had to pick up the slack and collectively that means I wore out a bit faster, for not even assessing if I needed a rest.  This is a great opportunity to further expand my own awareness and to develop some new practices. 

So what does that mean for now?  I'm aggressively reclaiming my schedule, very pointedly stating my intentions for my schedule for the day, and ultimately absorbing into myself a little more than usual.  With some of my Christmas money, we went to Mega Replay and I swapped in my Fitbit for an upgraded model, which has a few more tricks and syncs much faster to my phone.  What this refractory period looks like for me is a lot of trips to the gym and/or testing out a couple of different workouts at home.  Once I have reconnected those pieces, I can expand back out once again.  It's almost like an apology to myself, that I recognize I was overwrought on some places, so I'm trying to spend a lot of quality time in my own head, able to assert this time under the guise and added benefit of bettering my health.  The trick is to ensure that it's not crossing the line to self-flagellation--in these cycles before, I have DEFINITELY crossed the line into overdoing it.  

I don't think I've crossed the line yet, where working out does more harm than good, but I'm pleased to be able to push myself in ways that I haven't been able to do safely in years, if that makes sense.  There were (and still are) places where if I were to borrow tomorrow's energy, it would take me literal weeks to recover.  There are spaces now where my body tells me it's tired and I can say "one more hard lap."  Never more than one so far, but at least one more.  It starts with one.  My mile is getting faster. That does my heart good in a few ways.

Once I have regained the right balance, then what?  Can I better balance next year through any strategic planning?  Do I just accept that I will feel simultaneously filled and tired?  Can I start the refractory period earlier to better the balance?  Or is just oddly healthy to be thrown out of whack from time to time to appreciate what balance is?   

The holiday season hits everyone differently, for reasons specific to them even when the themes might be familiar.  Wishing you and yours the best kind of rebalancing you can find.

Mandetory End of Year Reflection, 2020

Another year with all the hijinks therein.  Deploy the bulleted list!

• We bought a freakin' house!  And we're continuing to add in different touches that make it more and more us.  
• We paid off all our student debt!  I have so many feelings about this. #MillenialUnicorns
• I have entered into the wild world of management.
• Andy has a new project car to work on.
• My eyes are lasered and successfully so, meaning that I no longer need glasses.
• Mike moved in with us.
• We had all kinds of interesting travel, including but not limited to the following:
• Orlando, FL (family vacay to Universal Studios)
• Austin, TX (work but also some hangage with Wendy and Jason)
• San Benito, TX (work)
• San Antonio, TX (work)
• Oahu, HI (family vacay, yo)
• Andy got a vasectomy, which means that we are never going to go through pregnancy in this house--it's been a HUGE relief.

Things we're looking forward to include but are not limited to the following:

• Actualizing some of Andy's plans for the car, starting with outlining the full scope of the changes needed.
• Regarding the house, we are considering making some significant changes to our downstairs bathroom sooner rather than later.  This will include expanding out that space by about four feet, adding an ostomy toilet, and building a closet space for our master bedroom.
• As per usual, I'm aiming to continue to learn new things:
• Riding a bike 
• Taking another class (or three)
• Picking up DuoLingo again for Norwegian, having dropped it for several months
• We're trying this new thing called saving money, with no small amount of gratitude that our situation allows it.

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT is that it's been another unpredictable year.  I think that's the best word for it.  There were a few things that we were setting up for--paying off debt, for example, required some specific, long-term planning, and the family vacations were determined far enough in advance to appropriately ask off for work--but there were all kinds of surprises and timings tossed in the mix.  A number of people in my circle are in this interesting transition time in their lives, preparing and/or anticipating changes.  In some cases, it's retirement; in others, changing jobs and moving are at the forefront in the upcoming year; others still are waiting for clarity in what those next steps are going to be, preparing all things for whatever comes to fill in the gaps.  Politically, too, next year is going to be a doozy.  I'm very much tapping into the anticipation of impending change.

Last year, I felt some similar pieces, that we were collectively preparing for changes, calling it "The Year of the Precipice," for myself at least.  We were very much planning on buying a house at that point, hoping that the stars would align accordingly.  As a result, we did make some big changes this year, taking some significant leaps to do so.  And yet, that anticipation is still present and, I think, more urgent.  I've been trying to re-empathize with the me from last year, to remember myself in that space, to compare, but I'm not certain.  I'm not the me I used to be, which is terrifying and gratifying in the same breath.  

This year, I think I'll go with "The Year of the Shove."  The exhilaration of jumping off of the precipice.  Ready or not.  All that preparation carrying us to where we are and propelling us to where we will be.  Gravity increases the acceleration.  There's uncertainty and a lot of fear from that.  There is also a strange confidence, as we have been throwing pillows and cushions down to meet us at the eventual *ahem* sudden shift in velocity.  Here we go.

Also, I'm already tired of the 20/20 jokes.  

Happy Everything, All!

Not much to say today except some great love and affection to you all.

Wishing you hope where you feel worn through.

Wishing you joy whether you feel like you have a reason to be.

Wishing you peace, particularly in those spaces where you might think you're too busy to feel it.

Thinking warm thoughts to you and yours, my dears.  Rest, celebrate, whatever you need to do over the holiday season.

May you be as snug as a unicorn onsie

Action Mode Beta, Engaged!

So, my eyes are probably my favorite physical feature.  I appreciate the complexity of the blue, how the edge of the iris has that slightly darker edge that stands out against the sclera, and how my smile wrinkles in the edges around them. If I'm thinking about not wearing makeup on a given day, I tend to at least put on mascara, because I enjoy how it makes my eyes pop just that little bit more.  I've worn glasses since the second grade, until (after two swings) all settled after Lasik surgery, so I've invested no small amount of money in them over time.

Whelp, been having some new trouble with them recently.  Post Lasik, I've been a little photosensitive--enough that I always wore sunglasses outside, like we are all supposed to anyway--but something switched over in the last couple weeks where I started wearing them inside, too.  They're angry.  And I have decidedly felt unsafe driving, even at night once we factor in headlights from other cars.  Work has been gracious enough to only make a few polite inquires about the sunglasses, but otherwise not insist I take them off.  Thankfully, I haven't had anything client facing, so it's not been much of an issue.

Got in to see the optometrist, got a script ordered and an action plan, pharmacy was out of stock so I did have to wait another day for what I've been calling my eye-buprofen, but so far it's been a slow turn around.  We're keeping things pretty dim in this household, I'm soaking my eyes in rewetting drops, and we're waiting.

All of the above happened because a particular switch was flipped in me.  For Monday and Tuesday of last week, I was waffling pretty hard on whether to call the doctor.  But then I tried to drive myself home for lunch on a sunny day.  It was a profoundly unsafe ten minutes, but certainly solidified in my mind that this was not okay.  It had crossed one of my specific thresholds, this one being "significantly intrusive to normal activity."

I was very relieved to have that switch flipped.  The indecisive cycles are one of my least favorite places to be, but once the decision is made, it's action mode.  I'm decisive.  I can advocate for myself.  I will have no problem calling the doctor or insurance or whomsoever is necessary to get pieces moving.  I will be reasonable and ask how I can help someone help me, but I am persistent.  I cut a great deal of the emotions and feelings out of the process.  Can't think about it--just have to get it done.

It's my crisis mode.  It's what got me through the mechanics of my major health concerns.  It is not a sustainable form.  I've brought this up before in other blogs, though the contrast with this particular experience is how aware I am of the different steps that are happening.  I am working on intentionally checking in with my body, a skillset I did not have in previous events (in no small part because I was afraid of the answer).  How I word my internal conversations has also shifted.  Sure, I'm very annoyed with my eyes at the moment--the squinting gives me a headache, the skin around my eyes is irritated with all of the additional moisture from the drops, my eyelashes are crusty from the renaments ot previous drops, I'm mildly annoyed at the looks/comments from folks as I wear my sunglasses inside (real or imagined), and the specialty drops get expensive--but I'm ensuring that my verbiage is not blaming my eyes.  I am frustrated at the situation but not my body this time.  Even a more gentle "ah, let's rewet those peepers and keep them feeling good" instead of a huffy "ugh, I have to stop what I'm doing again to take care of this BS" is important to the collective framing of the experience.  That compassion, given to myself as an olive branch of self-love, cuts away at the frustration.  There is pain; I am not the pain.  There is dryness and irritation, and it sucks that my eyes are feeling that--but that part of me is suffering right now, and I need to react with kindness.

A little more rest.  A little more space.  A little more time.

I am choosing to slow down because that's the care my body needs; I am not forced to stop.  ...Okay, definitely still struggling with that particular affirmation.  I do not actually feel that one yet.  There's a very real fear of missing out that I still very much struggle with, because there are many, many things that I've missed out on and there is no small amount of grief there yet to process.

And in the meanwhile, I'll pretend that I'm a starlet trying to evade paparazzi in my $8 sunglasses from Kohl's.  

Locker Room Chicken

I've been getting back into the pool recently, swimming laps again for cardio.  It's been good for my heart in more than one way, where not only am I already starting to re-adjust to the work (acutely aware of how out-of-shape I am), but it's a delight to be back in the water again.  I don't like to run much--I have too many jiggling parts to much enjoy it, I figure--but I hear from those that do run for fun/exercise that there is a point where you just zone out and let your mind disconnect from your body.  I have gotten that with swimming, where I nearly lose track of which lap I'm on in my mile for the day, simply for being lost in my thoughts on something else.  Muscle memory takes over.  I am free in the water and idly plotting what I want to do for the next 250 yards.

But I have new joy right now at the gym that I have internally named "Locker Room Chicken."  After I get out of the pool and shower, I wait until the last possible moment to cover up my ostomy bag.  I make eye contact with people walking by, silently daring them to ask questions.  I still smile, trying to be welcoming in a space where many people feel vulnerable.  I will dry off the bag with a hairdryer, tend to everything else with the colostomy bag prominaently against my side--shameless.

So far, I've had one person ask a question, when we had a quick chat about tattoos.  Most people look away quickly, going back to minding their own business in the locker room.  So, not many conversations yet.  However, the larger goal is to normalize myself in that space.  I want to make ostomies more normal, for a couple hours at a time, not just for myself but for others, too.

It's a game of me versus societal expectations of the locker room.  Where is the propriety necessary?  When does it stop us from understanding?  Where are these spaces open to new ideas?  Should I bring a sign, that I'm open to discuss?  It keeps me entertained, people-watching with that particular lens and wondering how many people recognize me for what and who I am.  Folks who recognize it must have a story as to why and I make up these in my mind as I continue to rinse off the chlorine scent as best I can.  Their stories are invisible in the same breath that I try to make mine more visible.  Their life is as deep and complex as my own, now trying not to make eye contact with a strange woman in a locker room with something strange attached to her body.

Andy suggested maybe it's time for another tattoo...

Be Happy for me, Dammit

Andy and I bought our first house at the end of April.  I've never lived in a house that we owned, growing up in parsonages and otherwise renting once I left my parents' home.  I had no real idea of how much of a process it was going to be, that things like closing costs and inspections and other fees were going to turn a purchase into an event, let alone the shopping process itself.  It was a months-long preparation and planning to make a significant change in our lives.  Even after all the paperwork was finalized, we have to then assess what kinds of projects we wanted to address in the house, arrange movers, decide on and purchase paint, and that's nothing to say all of the surprises that eventually come to light as we start to understand what changes others have made before us and how that can complicate a simple project more than expected.  We've been well-supported in this time, with help and encouragement and the occasional bit of heavy lifting.  And it's still an ongoing process, to which even this last week we added a new shelf and were able to buy a new couch for our main seating area, a place I've started internally calling "the conversation pit," just in time for Thanksgiving.

And yet, when we were able to sign the final paperwork and proudly announce our excitement to friends and family, we went to church that weekend and were asked by maybe two or three people about it...compared to the many, many questions about how it felt to be a new aunt/uncle.

I don't begrudge my nephew his birthday nor my brother and sister their joy in welcoming him into the world; we were excited for this, too.  To be blunt, our success in buying a house was what the two of us spent months planning and preparing for, what was going to be a significant change in our lives--the baby was a change in someone else's.  As far as what was directly impacting our lives at the moment, our success didn't feel validated or recognized. 

I am not aiming to chastise or demand any late, additional congratulations:  the point is that there was a lack of attunement in those moments.  There were assumptions made.  They were not immediately in line with what either Andy or myself were feeling.

We take our social cues in different ways:  when a friend tells us that they're pregnant, based on how they say it and their situation, we know to either be conciliatory or congratulatory.  Certain big events are compartively easy:  new house, new job, new baby all suggest some kind of big reaction.  But there are other things that are big to the person that we don't always take into account.  I can remember my older brother talking about the Ancient Cave, a complex marathon of a video game dungeon that he beat.  He was very proud of this accomplishment; collectively, he got a "whatever" response from the family that I'm regretful of, now that I look back on it.  I didn't have to understand it:  it was a big deal to him, and that was important enough to be happy for him.

As another example:  we paid off our student loans.  I don't feel that many people have a full understanding of that actually means.  We are friggin' millennial UNICORNS to have paid them off, let alone only this far out from ending our degrees, particularly when many, many of our peers have given up hope of ever paying them off.  We were met with a reaction of "wow, good for you!" and then the conversation continued on to something else, feeling like the full weight of that accomplishment was less than it was.  Hell, I'm still sorting out what that means regarding our budget and what we're saving for next.  When I'm reconnecting with people I haven't talked to in a while, having bought a house and paid off our student debt are still the top two things I start with and will continue to be for a while yet.  And yet, I feel like it is generally forgotten from the collective conscious.  

I have three points that I want to make explicitly:

1. I don't think that people know how to be happy for Andy and I because we're not complacently riding the managomy escalator and popping out babies, like it's an easy thing.  In the absence of what is "normal," folks maybe just don't know how to celebrate with us, since we're out of the societally expected path.  We've seen this crop up in a few different ways.
2. If we want to know what's important in someone's life, I suggest we ask.  I'm guilty of this, too, of not creating the invitation for someone to share what they're happy about. Suggestions:  "what's real to you right now?" or simply "what are you excited about these days?"
3. Though something might not be a "big" deal on the surface, you can celebrate with someone even if you don't understand it.  This could also mean that more of a response is desired, too--take the student loans, that we received praise but we were frustrated that the weight didn't feel validated.  Not sure if more praise is required?  Ask.  For example:  "How does make you feel?" or "How does that impact your life?" to at least get a gauge by asking some additional questions about the presented accomplishment.  Checking in later is another great way, too, to acknowledge those joys, seemningly small or large.
   

Not everyone is immediately in tune with what their needs are in the moment, but creating that invitation for folks to voice needs can open that door to greater attunement or otherwise create an opportunity for their own introspection.  I've gotten more comfortable with asking people what they need directly and this I feel has helped in extending my awareness and reacting more appropriately.  In other words, my own practice includes recognizing that it's not fair to be mad at someone for not reading my mind.  The feeling of frustration is still valid, but I have choices in how I want to voice that need.