Been a month since I moved in. Ain’t been able to create, yet. Not even a lesson plan. Not even a poem. I don’t like this but I can’t do anything about it. All I can do is trust the process. All I know is: I am going in a different direction. Everything is new. That is why I cannot create like I used to, what I used to, how I used to. You cannot do anything you used to do if you expect to elevate into a new. I have already elevated. I am here. But I am not comfortable yet. Maybe that’s why I am still actively trying to fly instead of letting myself levitate while I am here. There’s a different between being present and allowing and being on autopilot. I’m neither, though. I’m doing so much work trying to stay high up here, that I am not even able to produce from the clouds. No rain. And without rain, nothing I planted is going to grow. Was I better off remaining in the dark? Under the dirt? Am I tree? Or a bird that was birthed on the nest my mother made at the top of the trees? Is this why I am so unfocused? Am I not who I am anymore than what I was? This may not even make sense but if nothing else it is what it is: a post. A piece of writing, published, outside of my journal. That’s a start. A start. A start is promising. A start is all I can ask of myself. And I painted those words, I am going in a different direction, today. Took my water colors out. Tomorrow, I’ll buy myself an easel from Bricks. I’m going to create my way through my own creative stillness. The only way to get through a blockage is to build the momentum to move it out of the way, even if it’s slowly. Even if what I am creating is not what I want to produce. The what is not what matters. No. It does not matter. All that matters is that I begin to make again. Well, not again. It’s not going to be the same so it cannot be considered an again. I’m not making anything again, I am making a new, in this new place. I don’t want my creativity back. I want my creativity to come back out. Outside of my head. Outside of my dreams. Outside of my journals where only me and my future grandchildren can read. Physically, my apartment is new. So maybe the issue is that I’m just not as hungry as I was when I lived in places I didn’t want to live in. But I’m not comfortable enough to be complacent. So maybe my body just doesn’t understand that this is my place and it’s okay to open up here and get comfortable and let it all come out. Mentally, the only thing I have wanted to do is sleep lately. Traumatic recovery habits, of course. Some things about me will never change. Least I meditated for 30 minutes. Least I went outside today. Least I walked in the rain. Least I didn’t drink or smoke or find some guy to be my muse. You hear me self? I’m relying on you to be you and only you. Not adding or subtracting anything to you. You are enough as you are. I trust your process. I trust you will give life when you are fully ready to. Until then, I’ll keep feeding you with air and water.
Intentional-Affirmations for tomorrow:
I am productive. I write effective lesson plans that I can multiply with other educators. I meal prep for the week. I work out to keep my body energized. I play with the my paint brushes, instead of trying to write. Just play.
*no proof reading— a series.