No New Music

I'm not yet middle-aged nor in danger of a destructive midlife crisis, yet there are few people thereabouts my own age that don't seem to be so lucky in this respect. I'm talking about the already jaded claims every generation jeers about, in that jaded, grizzled tone: there's no new music/movies/books/ideas etc.

I can't say for certain this isn't true. Every book is a different combination of the same 26 letters. Every movie had a clear beginning, middle and end. Tropes are used over and over. People really haven't changed much since that last big crawl over the evolutionary hump. Music theory has already proven that certain chords and formats always make the most popular music.

So what's the point?

The point is that people are too overly focused on the elements of egotism, formula, and inflexible taste to really look at the magic of creation. It's not the fame and fortune that keeps people from creating when their work is likely to just be a saturated influence of all the things that have already been done. Yet, lately, I've been digging around YouTube and I'm seeing some pretty inspiring channels. A voice coach that dissects professional artists and covers without trashing anyone. A girl who takes the songs of one artist to do it in the style of another. A digital painter that teaches you to paint skin without a step by step format because art is still personal. A brilliant watercolor painter who was ridiculed for his style in art school but blows me away with his work.

I won't keep you in suspense, so I'll post these channels now:

Sam Johnson

Ali Spagnola

Istebrak 

Laovaan

I might link those when I jump on my laptop later, but as I usually blog on a tablet, the switching around is tedious...

What really stands out for me is that, whether you want to or not, it's really hard not to feel the pull of both their obvious skills and passion for what they do. I'm not really the sort that is drawn to artists for their public image, and that's never more true than my more recent fascination with Billie Eilish. I don't care for her videos or cultivated 'rebel' look. P!nk was similarly the edgy pop star that didn't fit as the pretty little industry princess. Yet when I'm listening to music, I care less about whatever image they cultivate for themselves and wholly about what their work creates in me. In both cases, these women speak to me because they create moving music. The same goes for Alanis Morissette, who in her advent days, did a lot of weird twitchy grunge girl videos. Undeniably, her music overpowered any visual accompaniment.

Who did it first? Well, who really cares? Historically, when things had to have been 'new' at some point, were they ever really new at all or was the combination and delivery just really resonate with experiences or innate feelings we always had as humans? The first humans were already creating, even when survival was supposedly all we had time for. The crude cave paintings were often renderings of actual animals, but then you see the hints of pure imagination. Imagine how crazy the fellow cavepeople thought their friend who was painting SIX legged buffalo!

So, yes, some artists are awe-inspiring in their ability to reproduce things we actually see with painstaking accuracy with tools most of us can only manage to use to scrawl out a chicken scratch signature. Some artists wow in the abstract or fantastical categories. Some start movements or never end up trending until they aren't alive to experience it.

But when you find yourself jaded by the thought that nothing is 'new', remember to look for the people who are caught in the whirlwind of inspiration. Look for that mix of humility, enthusiasm, and obsession and listen to the way they are looking at the things you gloss over. Stop giving everything seconds or minutes of the time it takes to look at a finished product and start analyzing the hours and months that go into the work.

Appreciation is becoming lost in the flood of consumption. It can happen to any of us and it can be fixed. Rather than being the crab at the bottom of the tank, yanking everything back down, catch the flow and ride along at the top. Be vulnerable to experience change. 

I definitely doesn't mean you have to catch every trend. Nothing on this earth could make me appreciate mumble rap. But there's still innovation and connection out there. Shed some of the salt and moss gathering on your skin and look for it.

Sometimes You Need a Little Motivation

Simply put, I'm monitoring many aspects of my health. I've gotten back some wonderful blood test results that were... Maybe a little TOO comforting. However, my LDL (bad) cholesterol came back as borderline high. It's not the worst news since the offset of HDL (good cholesterol) is well within a healthy range. This means that it's not a huge red flag, but my love of eggs and dairy needs to be cut down.

I consider it a great thing. I've been wanting to find motivation to improve my mental and physical health, I haven't quite had the strong push I needed to be more aggressive with the physical. Since I started Cymbalta on a low dose, I've stumbled on some side effects that concern me: vivid dreams that startle me awake but are instantly forgotten, for one. I also feel a kind of detachment to my surroundings and it takes longer for me to motivate myself to move. Sometimes I catch my breathing being too shallow, a little dizziness and being tired. While it definitely helped remove lethargy and nerve pain, it seems a little too intrusive on the rest. I decided not to take it today and message my doctor to see what she has to say. I can always switch to Lyrica if this one doesn't work out. I really, really don't want to pretend I'm okay with any medication that trades too heavily on my goals, but this could be just due to my low drug tolerance and something that could taper off.

I veered off a little but the cholesterol test had me dropping workout videos into a playlist and pulling out my old P90X3 schedule. I want to pick that back up on Monday, see if I can get back into circuit training. This hot, volatile summer has made me lazy in more ways than one and I know that one way I can restore my energy and drive is to drop a few pounds again. Which also means that I'll be using every drop of energy trying to restore it. It was losing a bunch of weight the first time that motivated me to be creative again, but I know this time, I'll have to maintain both to feed the other.

Though my memory isn't always great, I do know that each successful trip into healthy, happy days always began with being scared shitless. Spraining my ankle on a tiny curb and a high blood pressure scare set me into exercising. Looking at files and files of unfinished projects scared me into being creatively ambitious. While it's very difficult for me to maintain focus, I'm hoping that medication can improve that in time too. 

But I don't like it. Even 'non-addictive' medicines don't comfort me because it's not the physical reliance that scares me as much as the insistence on half-assed habits that wreck some other aspect of health. I can't just obsess on diet and exercise if it means ignoring my creative progress, and vice versa. Yet it's very difficult for me not to obsess on the one thing making me happiest. I just have to learn to consolidate my health into a layered motivation, being conscious of all the things that will make sure happiness isn't a phase of euphoria in one and neglect of something else.

Being conscious of that isn't an epiphany. There were obstacles that left me scattered and grasping for answers. Yet now that I'm well and truly afraid again, the little rebel in me is gearing up to fight for what must be done.

Don't be afraid to be scared. Be afraid that nothing scares you enough to seek change.

Nervous But a Service

Today, I went to see a psychologist. Of course, I was nervous. I'm never quite sure if it will be helpful or a disaster. My first attempts at therapy and medication as an adult were disasters.

As I've grown into a woman who has learned to better deal with myself--getting two degrees, publishing, working on branding myself--I fell into a common mindtrap. Maybe I'm somehow past what crippled me. Things are looking up. Yet after a couple of frustrating months, I couldn't pinpoint why I was struggling to be healthy. My focus grew erratic and my weight started to creep up. I knew the signs even if I wasn't willing to admit it. I had to face the truth and seek help.

It will take some time to find the right medications, but I wasn't forced into therapy. This doctor not only recognized how therapy often caused me to backpedal into old traumas, but she made it clear that there would be blood work and monitoring, an important aspect that was ignored in the past. I feel more confident that I won't be physically destroyed and my concerns will be listened to. There was no underlying current that she would enforce 'what's best for me'.

Like a great deal of women, it was a largely internal struggle. I knew I could be a rapid talker and fidgety and impulsive, socially awkward and end up 'quiet' when I sat on impulses. But a late diagnosis of ADHD is better than burying what I'd always suspected. I can manage the worst of it when I am extremely selective of situations I put myself in. Being able to choose when to work has become an important part of functioning.

Yet I wanted more than that. I don't care about being socially acceptable to the masses, but I want more agency with my desires. If I want to draw, I want to be able to do so for hours, rather than frustrated bursts. If I want to write, the words need to slow down to the speed of my typing. If I want to sleep, and am even exhausted, I want my brain to stop fighting it like I'll never wake up.

It was an important step when I started treating my physical issues but very important to grasp that fibromyalgia is also worse when physical and mental issues are not addressed jointly. I'm a very patient person when it comes to my health, as I'd adapted myself to come to terms with.

It's equally important to add that the eccentricities that come with being smart are not always normal. When the smartness can't be communicated, it is neither helpful to the self nor the people it could benefit. It becomes frustrating, to find yourself bound, glued to the spot, while all those ideas fly into walls and out of windows.

I can't say for certain I was born this way. There is a lot of trauma that could have caused mental illness to manifest as an adaptation. I was often caught in nightmare worlds where no one believed me, blamed me, or turned people against me when their lies were believed. My mom told me I was always impulsive but not mean-spirited or intentionally troublesome. I did balk against the perception of morality, deciding right and wrong for myself outside of strict social constructs.

What I want to focus on is being who I want to be. To stop feeling frustrated when I'm actually enjoying myself. To remember more, even down to what I just ate, without having to write everything down. To not let false chemical signals in my brain affect my nerves and mental processes.

I've never really felt like I was sick. Just entirely too tolerant in being adaptive. Feeling sick always came from swallowing everything that made me different, trying to please people who couldn't care less about me anyway. I've embraced my inner nerd and eccentric.

But I can't hug away the misfires in my body. Sometimes, I need to remind myself that it doesn't just go away because my life is better. My body fights battles I can't mediate away with logic and good intentions.

I'm optimistic about taking small steps towards wellness. I really feel like this doctor, and my medical doctor, really see me and listen to me. It's a step in the right direction.

Things Go Boom

As you can tell from the eloquent title, I'll start with a bit of an update on fireworks. It hasn't been bad around here yet but I'm expecting Wednesday through Sunday night will come with a lot more.

I don't begrudge people the joy of celebration or fireworks. I've never been a big fan of haunted houses or fireworks because I can't seem to avoid panic attacks with the combination of flashing lights and loud noises. I've been that way since I was a kid, no matter how much my parents tried to acclimate me. I've been to haunted houses and fireworks shows with friends, and earplugs help. They don't completely drown out sounds; I have very sensitive ears so it just muffles things enough to calm me. What I can't stand still are those damn mortar shells that are all noise. Although there hasn't been any of that yet, I often have to stay sitting or lying down, because my legs will give out when noise is too loud. It's not something I can control. Let's face it though; the more amateurs drink, the worse the danger too. Even though it's illegal in Ohio, occasionally people take the risk and set them off in my neighborhood. This time of year, it's hot as hell, but I have to shut off my AC and cover the vents or I'm choking on straight sulfur all night.

By all means, I'm all for people going to professional shows or, hell, even going out to some rural area and setting them off. I don't at all like it close to home though. It's a fire hazard, makes the air unbreathable and it's dangerous. Plenty of war veterans and autistic children also would like the choice not to go into panic for your fun. In this area alone, we have Red, White and Blue Ash, the Mt.  Healthy fireworks show and Arlington Cemetary does a show too. The last two are both visible from my house, at that. Both are done by hired professionals and not close enough to be problematic.

Again, not out to ruin anyone's fun, but it's not fun for everyone and I hope people can come to respect that more over time. 

I didn't actually want to say too much on the topic; mostly wanted to run a little update.

Did some house cleaning today and went through some of my mom's things. It doesn't really get that much easier. Years have passed since she died, but there's a numbness that still causes a lump in my throat, an eagerness to laugh and the threat of tears. But I found some crafty stuff and some old dolls I'd like to refurbish. I'm still struggling to write or draw in anything but short bursts, so I'm poking at crafting. I got some more practice doll heads in the mail and Erin, my sister, gave me some acrylics I can use for painting the faces. I still haven't gotten the supplies I need to do the wig caps, but I don't need to do wigs prior to painting.

Painting is not my strong suit. I'm not the sort of artist that likes the feel or mess of paint. This is also fine work and my hands do tend to tremble, so I'll have to use light quick strokes and likely need to start over quite a bit before I get the hang of it. New crafts can be like that so no biggie. I rarely ever end up making a disaster of it.

Obviously, the chance of fireworks kind of halts any sort of finer work in the evenings, but it's a few days where I just have to find something else to do. 

I absolutely do dream of having some secluded craft shack to retreat to in the future, but right now, I've been spending nearly every penny I make on establishing myself as an author/illustrator/crafter so there's no budget for saving up for some acreage and a quaint little mini house just yet. The idea of scaling up crafting to renovate a house is pretty exciting too though. Something to work for...