Why are we here? What is our greater purpose? These questions roll my eyes so hard that they stick up in my head for a while. Because there’s no one answer. Just as I believe there’s no one right partner or one right vocation. I’ve always known what I didn’t want more than what I did and it’s one of my greatest tools of discernment. For example, I don’t know what I want to do today, but I sure don’t want to get a root canal or clean the bathroom. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after college, but I did know I didn’t want to go to law school or sell insurance. (Professional astrologer was high on the list, but that’s another story.) Process of elimination works wonders.
The last couple of weeks have been a blur. Not with the regular stuff: meals, cleaning, clients, emails, etc, but with not doing. It’s been very hard work. My roll has slowed because of a recent hand surgery, a leiomyloma on the back of my right hand on the fifth metacarpal. It is healing better than expected with way less pain than it was causing. It’s benign which I already knew because I’ve had it for three uncomfortable years and figured I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t. Why did I wait so long to have it removed? Oh, you know, a combination of Covid and insurance issues. External life has slowed. Simpler meals, no massage clients, no gym, no yoga, no writing (typing is fine!).
My current to-do list includes not writing about dropping off my eldest child at college for his freshman year a few days ago. My feelings are too fresh to distill into sentences. Also on that list, is to feel the effects of the ice cream dinner we ate last night and try to remember to not do that again anytime soon. I attempted to sneak in an action item of running around today doing ‘fun things’ to distract myself from the real work, but my car (hence the universe) had other ideas so broke a tire mount or some such nonsense limiting my geographic mobility and keeping me focused. On the breeze. On summoning the patience for a long afternoon on my porch waiting for a potential hummingbird visit, on gratitude that I seeded nasturtiums months ago so they could bloom just for these tiny helicopters. Gratitude is an endurance slog.
Walking is number 5 on the list, in the woods, with my dog while the rest of my family is at a bacteria laden water park that my hand isn’t allowed to go near. Number six involves not fixating on the gummy grime under every piece of cabinet and drawer hardware in the kitchen, that I’ve never noticed, but now want to attack with a toothbrush. Next on my list is to not think about my income loss during hand recovery and to abstain from researching side hustles for extra money: selling my plasma? investing in crypto? 14 day sleep study?
My most pressing work is to stop reading articles on how to attract more readers to my Substack. I just need to write, not to read about getting people to read it. The striving, the urgency of quantifying some weird emotional ROI, is a distractive time suck. A dementor’s kiss that siphons out creativity faster than your soul. Yes, I love the dopamine hit of getting a new subscriber or share or shout out. (I am human after all). I occasionally float on the fantasy of a post going viral and whatever it is that happens after that, affording me financial abundance and the knowledge that I’ve helped people in some way. However, my job right now is to simply bead together words on a thought string. As Anne Lamott says, to create really shitty first drafts. The point of writing, of all creating, is to do it. The outcome and/or voices (mostly internal) that tell you not to, not only don’t matter, but they are none of your business. It might be different if I was a professional writer and had to create content on a regular basis on externally generated topics, but I’m not. And maybe because of that, it feels arrogant to create at all. That’s one of the familiar voices I hear. “Who are you to write? Is that really your purpose? Maybe you’d be better served by cleaning that bathroom.” *eye roll* I have loved reading since the day I learned how to do it. I have never once walked into a bookstore or library and thought, “Who do these arrogant MFers think they are, expecting people to read and pay for their words? What assholes.”
These people are my heroes. They are the generous brave souls that took on the work of channeling their thoughts and ideas into pages. They (or their literary agents) took a chance on sending books and articles out into the world in hopes that people would find them meaningful or entertaining (which is also meaningful). Writers and artists are just like you and me: Funny, curious, insecure, dream seekers, risk takers, and so much more. Is it my purpose to write? Is it your purpose to paint or sew or collage? Do you want it to be? Is it preordained? Does it matter? Would you rather clean the bathroom? Therein lies the answer.
🖋 This podcast by ten percent happier called, Neuroaesthetics: How Art Can Improve and Extend Your Life | Ivy Ross and Susan Magsamen’
🖋 My incredible friend, Kate, is opening an independent bookstore in North Andover!! From the Purple Couch FB page (that includes great book recommendations and so much more!), “The first edition of our newsletter will be going out today. Don’t you want to find out more about our construction progress and potential opening date before everyone else? Sign up today on our website purplecouchbookshop.com”
Why I clean my bathroom... when I feel stuck, when I feel I'm not accomplishing anything, when I want to dull the ache, cleaning gives instant results and postpones or quiets that inner voice that seems to criticize more than encourage me.
Lorryn I'm Glad your hand is on the mend.
I LOVE that you write! And I love this blog! I WANT to write. I have written a lot in the past, and I can't seem to make the time to write NOW. Since I was about 7, I have always wanted to write a novel. I've started three. I've written hundreds of poems. In more recent years, I've written some haiku. You inspire me! Though I still can't guarantee that I'll sit and actually write something soon.... LOL