4/12: So Much and Nothing to Say

Lately I’ve been feeling creatively constipated, like there are all these thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head all the time, but nothing comes out.

Part of it is a function of work: my full-time job has been a lot lately, and it saps me of any drive to produce creatively when I’m not working. if I’m being honest, I sometimes feel overwhelmed and out of my depth, because the sheer volume of activity and the long list of to-dos at work can get to be too much, at least in my own head.

Logically, things will happen. Things will get done. And it won’t all be perfect. My anxiety makes me get ahead of myself sometimes, and it can be exhausting.

I often wish I could be one of those people who has a job and views it as such—a job—and not as an extension of themselves or an expression of who they are. I’ve had jobs, but I don’t want a job. I want something that fulfills and satisfies me, personally, creatively, and intellectually. I’m always looking for that ideal ‘joy to comp’ ratio, where it’s work I enjoy and am paid well for.

Is that too much to ask? ;)

This isn’t a unique problem, I know. This month I’ve just felt a lot of agita between work dynamics and pandemic-induced monotony, and I’ve been trying to find peace. Regular exercise, a sacred plant medicine ceremony, therapy, and massage are a few tools I’ve been using to adjust my frame of mind. It’s tempting to engage in less healthy coping mechanisms when I’m feeling stressed, but as I get older, I’m finding it easier, if only slightly, to resist the knee-jerk reaction of turning to a quick fix.

À la Carrie Bradshaw, I can’t help but wonder: is delayed gratification the definition of maturity?

Maybe I just need to give myself—and the creative muse—time and space to work their magic. I’m so used to just cranking out writing for work and other people, and when it comes time on the weekend or in an early morning I’ve set aside to write for myself, it’s just not there.

I want to give myself a break, but it’s easier said than done. When you have high expectations for yourself, when you can envision yourself in a higher plane of being and a different work scenario that fulfills and excites you and makes all of the pain and stress and self-loathing worthwhile, patience is a hot commodity.

Perhaps I’m just too much of a dreamer; that I let myself get lost in the subjunctive and turn “wouldn’t it be nice” scenarios into expectations. But isn’t that how big things happen? If we can’t envision it, how can we ever do it?

Anyway.

I agonized over what I’d even write this month because, well, creative constipation. But here I am, showing up yet again, sharing my thoughts on a predetermined and communicated cadence, like I promised. It’s almost a relief that I’m likely the only one reading this and that this business blog has turned into a capsule of my thoughts; a space without defined deliverables and themes.

At least for this year, these monthly blog posts are like time capsules; digital glyphs I’m leaving behind that no one else may ever see.

And that’s okay. Actually, it’s better than okay.

It’s amazing.