I am again in a familiar state of creative yearning complicated by the convenience of summer social activities and chaotic clutter in my nest. It starts with invitations to golf, to the beach, or for coffee and some shopping. It spreads to a handful of clients that have somehow found me (could be my own fault), and my commitment to volunteering and my recovery program. On my own, I manage to add house guests, garden weeding, and obligatory dog walks and errands. There, another day filled up. Another day of my designated “author time” violated.
As I perch on a vinyl bucket chair with my laptop on the black Arborite table in a big city Starbucks, I am soaking in rare empty time. I am relishing the opportunity to accompany my daughter to a medical appointment and be told I would have to “wait” two hours. I have chosen not to explore the area, poke around shops, or otherwise avail myself of urban amenities.
I have the same wave of appreciation for activity voids when I am on a plane. The freedom of not being able to do anything is an elixir for me.
Many years ago, in a course on neuroscience and coaching, I was reminded of the duality of our brains. In simplistic terms, the right brain is our creative and emotional engine, the left brain the organizer and logistics co-ordinator. As I continue my journey of maturity and self-knowledge (aging), I am increasingly aware of the imbalance in my head. As I ventured behind my closet doors to the tangle of hangers, baskets puking t-shirts and jeans and single shoes spilling off an inadequate rack, I had a moment of clarity. Chaos in my closet leads to clutter in my mind. I needed to purge and organize to calm my brain. Clearing physical space has a way of disposing of my mental and emotional litter.
I filled three bags with clothing, some almost brand new. The pieces were either replicas of what I already owned, or whims that felt exciting in the moment and ridiculous when I took them out of the bag at home. The excess of consumption and waste is disturbing and disruptive to my urge for simplicity and social responsibility. Shame also sits close to the surface.
Like a soothing salve, tying up the bags and having empty space and neatly folded items I like removed me from the din of inertia I had been feeling. The next step was the calendar review. The audit of the coulds, shoulds, and want tos. Only with my left hemisphere clarity could I tackle the double booking, texts and emails taunting me and stealthily infiltrating protected time.
I am the victim and the perpetrator of my predicament. It is easier and safer to say yes, to feign interest and enthusiasm, to busy myself with activities and engagements deemed worthwhile and socially fulfilling. To admit that I am avoiding the hard work of building a book outline, writing chapters, and finding an editor is to acknowledge fear: of failure in all its forms.
Fear is the glue that keeps us stuck, small, avoiding, and otherwise limiting our experiences and potential. As I enter a new decade, I feel I have choice laced with a sense of urgency. Shifting from writing and posting short dispatches to sinking into a consuming and lengthy project is like learning a new dance step, with the goal of being put on stage in front of hundreds of people.
My next tattoo will likely be “if not now ~ when”.