Ink and Vein

Festivals. Farmers Markets. Makers Markets. Performances. Learning to paint. Shows. Art exhibits. Hiking. Art classes and collage workshops. Creativity coffee chats. Collaboration projects. Camping. Reading. Learning to draw. Writing poetry. Becoming the bass player in a band. Washing my dishes. Star gazing. Doing my laundry. Long phone calls. Remembering to grocery shop. Hanging out with friends. Group hangs. Reading poetry. Long walks. Long talks. Long silences. Dreaming out loud. Flirting (or trying). Road trips. Spontaneous nighttime hikes. Bird watching. Reading memoirs. Just sitting. One-on-one hangs. Texting memes. Sending pictures. Staying aware. Writing my memoir. Tracking the death count. Tracking the rising temperatures. Remembering to cook the groceries. Noticing the weather changes. Tracking the spread of toxins. Tracking the virus. Tracking the diagnosis. Tracking the symptoms from the medication. Daily tarot practice. Daily walks. Daily yoga. Daily meditation. Promoting events. Hangs with myself. Birthday weekends. Learning to play an instrument (I guess I need to do that before I can be a bass player in a band).

I want to do it all.

The days aren’t long enough, though, especially when I’m weary and it takes me at least an hour after my alarm to get out of bed.

I need to move slow but if I move slow how will I do it all?

But I want to do it all. I want to experience it all. I want to feel it all.

And what I feel at the end of the day is exhausted and more than a little sad, more than a little unmoored, more than a little lost.

Curl up with a blanket and a movie I’ve seen 100 times. Curl up with my phone and scroll and scroll and scroll, sending memes and videos to friends so they remember I’m there, so they know I’m thinking of them, so I can feel some sort of connection while I’m feeling alone.

I want to do it all. I don’t like to choose.

But I have been choosing. I’ve been choosing to go to shows, to support my friends, to hang out, to invest my energy in being social, being outward-facing, being in community.

And it’s been wonderful.

I’m just a little depleted.

I’m realizing I need to pull back. I’m realizing I need to recall my energy.

I’ve been reading poetry every day this month, participating in the Sealey Challenge (a poetry collection a day for the month of August). The first several days, I felt a change, a sort of calm and quiet in my spirit. Beginning my day immersed in poetry for an hour or more, engaging with words in that distinct way that poetry asks of us… it was stirring something in me, and settling something else.

Starting my day with poetry, keeping the TV and the music off for most of the day let my brain quiet down, and in my spirit and my heart, there was room for some quiet to rise up.

And room for sadness, for grief, for loneliness to rise up, too.

I want to do it all, I want to be in the moment right now so that I don’t need to be in other moments, in other feelings, in other experiences.

So I don’t really want to do it all. I don’t want to be still long enough to feel all of it. I only want to feel excitement, and inspiration, and happiness.

The rest… it’s still there. And it pulls me down if I don’t give it the attention it needs.

All of this to say, I’m recalling my energy.

Or trying to.

I can’t do it all, and I have to use some of my energy for myself. I’m refocusing on my own creative energies (Kati’s memoir group starts soon!), some of which includes the creative energy of others, and some of which will mean that I need to let myself sink into isolation and loneliness at times.

I want to do it all. I can’t do it all. I remind myself that this is not a failing. It’s an opportunity for me to practice discernment, and become more aware of how I give my time, my energy, my emotions.