I kept up with my hiatus with the bulk of social media, which inevitably sent my blog into silence too. But the longer I drifted from using social media to journal and bitch and assert, the more I came back to what drew me to forums and internet socializing to begin with: to learn and to share.
Lately, I’ve set out to learn. I spent quite a while in high output mode and maintaining it actually became draining. There was, as I’ve mentioned, neglect to health, to really absorbing and observing and to people I care about. While these things were patient, too patient in some instances, I accumulated my own guilt in the realization of neglect. I was giving and giving but not open to taking more in to keep feeding that beast.
So I turned to learning. I picked up learning Japanese again, not with a fan-girl love of anime from the past but just because I truly enjoyed what I had learned and wanted to pursue it in much the same way I am always a student of the English language: to see how it can continue to enrich effective communication.
I am still not quite ready to create. But I’ve done some spring cleaning, with notebooks I kept to lead me back to my unfinished books, organizing files, looking at many, many unfinished projects with some reverence and silent resolution to return when the time comes.
Though I can’t definitively produce when the magic hour will come, I continue to remind myself, to tickle the muse, to assure myself I truly had a wonderful world swirling about, one that is immaterial and will never collect dust but is ready to tingle intangible over trembling limbs once more.
I absolutely meant to wax poetic there, but my work does always linger like a romance waiting for my walls to explode into, well, neat proper piles to be swept away by magic brooms because muses aren’t maids.
In all honesty, I happened upon cherophobia, a true fear of being happy. I have run into challenges that held me immobile when I had convinced myself I was trudging through. But it seemed like every resolve to enjoy and let myself feel deserving, I ran into some shit festival that made me question whether some unknown entity held ill intentions for me. Like many ex-theists, there are always bitter crumbs of a time when I thought maybe a god exists but hates me in particular. I can tell myself it’s absurd but paranoia lies in the recurrence to where I feel naive to not question the coincidence.
Speaking of which (and witches), I do find comfort in flipping tarot cards and cleansing crystals and burning herbs and wearing essential oils. Not because I’m ready to seek gods or spirituality but because I’ve learned that my senses need love to avoid overload. I love the way smells can alter my moods, the way the texture and aesthetic beauty of stones can wrench a smile from my battered soul, the way intentions for my self can make all the difference in how I perceive the world and what I give back to it.
My journey this year is about learning from mistakes and not rushing desperately in to repeat them. I am carefully cultivating a place where my passions can coexist and self-care does not become the sacrifice.
With that, I truly feel the tendrils of hope grow stronger. Age will not be kinder to periods of neglect. I can ill afford to sabotage the present with possible obstacles ahead. Creation always requires some risk, some angst, some care and some clumsiness. I must come ready and still be raw.
Or as I’ve said in one of my wise metaphorical moments, pluck when ripe or resent when rotten.
On a more lighthearted note, I’ve thought of doing sort of random musings guided by my Google news recommendations. I always manage to kick up a crazy sense of humor inspired by content so it may be worthwhile to try that for blogging. Perhaps a summer project? But I won’t tease; there are a lot of maybes in my present and I’m still developing my goals without the restraint of commitment right now so it’s a thought. My nephews are almost on summer break so I’m feeling a small change may be welcome.
