I had coffee last night after 8 p.m. despite knowing that I am way too middle aged for that. It kept me up way past my bed time last night, and so, I lost about three hours of day today. I usually get up at around seven or eight. I didn’t manage to crawl out of the nest until ten.
Despite knowing how exhausted I would be today, and how pressed for time I’d feel, and how stressed, I let myself just stay up, since that’s what my body was going to do anyway. I connected with friends on social media. I watched a few episodes of a really compelling series on Netflix (The Jinx. It’s bingeworthy if you like true crime.). I talked out loud to my dog, who is the best listener ever.
I knew I’d be exhausted today (and I am), but after a few weeks of holding my breath, being very careful every where I live (about what I say, about who I say it to, about how I say it), the pure, unadulterated freedom to just *be* with myself for a few hours was well worth it.
I was going to push through today. I was going to film and edit and do all the things that I’d deemed needful. And then I realized that I could switch some things around so that everyone gets more in the end, but I get room to breathe.
I admit I’m congratulating myself for that right now as I face a good six hours of NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO in TOTAL SOLITUDE for the first time in what feels like forever.
Self-care. It’s a thing, and sometimes, it requires us to go dark, even if only for a few hours.
I know there’s a lot of division on line around the #artistsforlove movement, and I know you’ll probably look at me side-eyed if I don’t mention it, so I will. I’m listening, but not today. Today, I need to be with myself in contentment. Today I need to be in solidarity with myself, and with my need for some time and space that doesn’t include difficult conversations. I’ve been having difficult conversations for months leading up to this election, and I am pretty burnt out.
I hear some of you whisper “White tears. White privilege.” Okay. I accept that. I know that there are people who have been having these difficult conversations their whole life. I know that my privilege makes it possible for me to *choose* to have these conversations or not. I’m not looking for a medal because I’m choosing to have them, either. I know I have a platform (I built it myself), and I know I can use it for good or ill (and indifference, in my opinion, is evil in times like these). I wish I knew how to do the things I’m doing ‘right’ or ‘better’. I listen, but I hear many opposing views. The safety pin. The #artistsforlove movement. What to say. How to say it. Who to say it to. When to shut up and listen. When to speak up.
I’m trying, and I’m going to fail at least as much as I succeed. My definition of success isn’t even well-defined enough at this point to know what the hell success even looks like, so I mostly see the ways I’m failing. I know this much, though – if even one person feels a little bit seen, heard, loved, acknowledged, or witnessed by these eyes and this heart, that’s enough. That’s enough of a reason to keep on entering the fray, telling my stories, standing up for what I believe in.
I don’t know the answers. I don’t. I only know that it feels important to say I SEE YOU, I STAND WITH YOU. That is what I’m convicted to do. I’m not doing it for the sake of self-promotion. Believe me, it would be a lot better for my business if I kept my mouth shut. I’m doing it because I feel *convicted to do it*.
I know I have no right to ask anyone to come at me with kindness. You must come at me as you are convicted to come at me. If you must come at me, come. I will hold it as best I can.
I will endeavour to remain kind, and I will probably fail at that at times, too, but I promise to try.
But for today, I will be over here in my hard won little sanctuary, going a bit dark, but only for a little while, refilling the well from which I wish to pour & pour & pour.