Looking to pick up my darn chin….maybe fly a bit.
Slightly bummed that the annual snow feature no longer worked on this WordPress site due to a long ago Jetpack update, what was even more disconcerting was over the last couple of weeks my devices were blocking editing my own website. I initially discounted it because I had plenty of client work to do…but this week it was starting to really bug me and was wanting to drastically revamp the site. I tweaked DNS settings, ranted at Namecheap, messed with different cache cleaners, ran scans in Wordfence, dropped the broadband modem accidentally on the floor. Nothing. It was mystifying as I had been able to access all of the other sites hosted on the same server. On a whim, I finally changed the settings inside of wireless security and toggled a few things…magically my site came back up.
So a toggle, a reset, a new view.
Everything, and I mean literally everything, has been a “new view” for the last year. So many new views it has been a bit paralyzing. The cheery outside view of my over-the-top Vegas style Christmas lights masked the inside-the-house chaos and my inner spirit pity party for one. I have changed views and moving destination plans twice, shifted from owning to renting, to renting again and again, back to owning. Now I listen to trains while I write instead of goats. No longer do I have a partner corporate structure, nor the same desk, office furniture, conference table, filing system (still not solved), clients, car, coffee pot and mugs I had for many, many years. Realization that I can make snack choices without taking an office vote, take lunch whenever, luxuriously read writer blogs till midnight, set the thermostat as low as I like and secretly wear ragged black mitts like Charles Dickens’ Tiny Tim without staff ridicule is wildly freeing!
As well as scary.
This week also meant dealing alone with a dead furnace on a zero degree day, a power outage where I couldn’t do client work, and a young woman bleeding in my foyer after an assault on the corner. I intervened, solved, picked up my darn chin. I warrior goddessed without a pal. I looked for light.
Telling people I was postponing some decisions due to grief fog was a bit of a cop out this year, but also a comfort. Pushing out of the scheduling box, getting back to having international dinners with a view with new friends, as well as many driving adventures has been good energy and allowing for the necessary reset. Even slowing down to look at trees covered in hoar frost as I drove up to Hamilton, Ohio this past weekend was magical…despite the zero degree weather. Making rest stops without having to worry about compromise, both mentally necessary and completely novel.
The time spent has also helped determine business direction, what to keep, what to throw away in terms of client services in a “spark joy” way. It has been a better time of transition than I originally envisioned. Have also been strategically looking for cracks where new light can get in….taking inventory of the depth of my consulting resources.
Two writers who have been stretching me, Rebecca Solnit, author of Men Explain Things to Me and Maria Popova of Brainpickings.org fame both shared the “Focus” meme which I caught in social media in Maria Popova’s blog entitled: A Responsibility to Light: An Illustrated Manifesto for Creative Resilience and the Artist’s Duty in Dark Times. I have printed it out multiple times and pasted it all over the office. Although my workspace is still chaos, I have periodically unpacked yet another box, painted another wall while rereading this meme. You can even order it as a colorful poster.
Inspired by Toni Morrison, illustrated by Wendy MacNaughton and written by Courtney E. Martin, this to me offered a call to humanity, action, and creative resilience for traumatized artists in rough times. Written shortly after Leonard Cohen’s death, these words echoed as well to me Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese” observations on grief, widely shared this month following her passing:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
So all this to say in a very round about, disjointed way that apparently I am on a trajectory of visualizing new work as art, rather than work.
It is a must in these times.
Onward.
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