May 2021
The 3rd.
I think it’s time for me to start mentally transitioning out of the “visionary” role. The role I’m playing at this point is getting everyone where they need to be, answering their questions, advocating for them during this transition. That’s it. I’m done with anything else I’m “supposed” to be doing. Any future I was trying to create is gone. I can let go of it, and the burden that came with it.
The 4th.
What a weird thing this transition is. I feel very unsettled, like I’m moving too fast and not fast enough. I’m so exhausted by it. Every day is a slew of conversations, and I feel like I’m walking a tightrope. I’ll be so glad when this is over. Especially glad not to have to be speaking for other people. It’s a lot. There are so many, many perspectives to consider.
Also my neck hurts. Atrociously. I know it’s because of all the desk work I’m doing. It’s not the most ergonomic situation. But all I can really do is stretch it out, and I think I can do that while doing other stuff?
Gah. Computers make me feel not-great. And also, I’m not sure how much of how I’m feeling is that and how much is other things. Sometimes I think I need to fix my life. Go against what I think I want and do the thing that is technically “better.” Like not letting myself dive deep into my work even when I’m very engaged in it. Instead force myself to do yoga and journal even though I’m having a hard time concentrating on it. Not let myself spend copious amounts of time alone with my thoughts. Instead do things with friends more. Not let myself skip laundry day and plant-watering day. Not letting myself trade making a healthy meal for ordering one.
I’m just…the most tired. My life is a series of unexpected changes. I’m handling it well on the outside, but I feel a little dead inside.
The 9th.
Mother’s Day is exhausting. So much pressure to make the mothers in your life feel loved added to the pressure of making the children in your life feel like they’ve done a good job of making you feel loved.
Luckily, today is my son’s birthday. That means I get a little break in all of the "yay let's do mom things".
I’m so overextended. Every system I’d been so intentional about building up has slowly but surely been torn down. The laundry is backed up. The food is backed up. My writing is backed up. My reading is backed up. I haven’t done yoga in a week.
Oh well. When things fall apart, it allows me to put them back together. And I’m grateful for that ebb and flow, in a way. Otherwise I would come to feel obligated by my rituals and rhythms rather than know how much they nourish me.
I feel like I’ve been wrung out like a dishrag this past year. I can’t do it anymore. I have energy, but no direction. I have confidence, but not in myself. Or at least, in my ability to Make Things Happen. I’m not a Make Things Happen person anymore. I’m more of a gentle gardener. I don’t know where that’s going to lead me.
The 12th.
Wow, I really clench my shoulders a lot. Maybe that’s where a lot of this neck pain is coming from. I’m trying to be more aware of how I’m holding my body, and it seems like my shoulders creep up around my ears if I’m not paying attention to them.
The 14th.
“When you come across a truly unbroken thing, it is a miracle, blessed, pure.” —The Byoglu Municipality Waste Management Orchestra by Kenna Orhan
How do I inhabit this new world I’m in? I now have a significant investment in a startup that is already close to profit level after less than three months. We don’t need a safety net, because the business model works and it has clear product-market fit. My job is straightforward. I have lots of creative energy left for whatever I want to do.
What a relief, in a way. But also it’s such a different situation for me to be in. I’m so free. I don’t even need my identity. I don’t need to be good at anything in particular. Everything I do right now is a game with rules I get to define.
So what is the game I want to be playing? I feel almost guilty that this is true for me. It’s like I got a “get out of jail free” card but almost everyone else I know is still in jail. How can I enjoy my freedom and bring other people along with me?
I need to detox from the system. That much I know is true. There’s going to be some time that I just don’t know what to do with myself, and I need to accept it and relax into it rather than freak out about it.
The 16th.
Detoxing from “doing” is really hard. I end up doing things that other people want because I don’t really have much going on myself.
But my theory is that if I let myself detox from “doing” (and protect that time) then eventually I will know what I want. And that will be so much more powerful than going through the motions. It’s the via negativa. It’s scary to not do anything. It feels lazy and like I’m wasting my time for myself. But I do believe detox is the first step to actually knowing what it is I want to do with my life. And I’m committed to taking it.
The 18th.
It’s funny. Detoxing from “doing” is starting to default into making lots of lists of things I might do later, when I actually want to do them. But I don’t want to do anything. Still.
The 19th.
“I enjoyed collecting the composer's trash if only for the reprieve of tending to something precious, of being entrusted with the death of the beloved machinations of someone's art. You look for small grandeurs in my line of work. A month here and you'd be singing odes to those rare crumbless toasters.” —The Byoglu Municipality Waste Management Orchestra by Kenna Orhan
Still detoxing. Last night I noticed feelings. Like, sad feelings. I don’t know if it was an inevitable thing after a while of just sitting there doing nothing, or if it’s a level of detox I’ve reached where you get past the distraction of busyness and you start poking around into what’s really there.
What I started poking around in is my “body of work,” my “genius hour” (as my son’s school calls the time they get to spend doing whatever project currently calling from their zone of genius). I feel a bit heartbroken about it. I tried to bring the fullness of myself to my role as CEO, but I never reached it. Now everything I’m interested in feels irrelevant to my new role; my work feels like a sidenote to the momentum that is happening there. My work was such a deeply integrated part of my life that it feels like my whole life is going on without me.
I know I have to “see” myself and the truth of my own work before I can change that tide. That’s what was happening last night. I was seeing myself and I was sad by what I saw. I keep trying to be what I think is needed and then be myself within that as much as I can. In doing that, I compromise it, trying to make my creative impulse fit the needs of the group.
But now the group doesn’t need my creative impulse at all. It needs my leadership, but it doesn’t need my unique vision and way of seeing the world. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that will force me to get clear on what my own work is, without the needs of the many clamoring for my attention.
I had this mental picture of this beautiful work of art rotting away in someone’s garage, not valued, irrelevant, allowed to languish along with the other junk. I don’t want that to be the fate of my creative impulses. Even if what I make next doesn’t end up changing the world, it deserves a frame, at least. I don’t need a fancy venue, but I need to at least put it in a place with good lighting and an atmosphere of invitation and appreciation.
This is what I need to cultivate. A space where I can show up as myself and be appreciated as myself. Where the ideas I see can turn into real possibilities in people’s lives. I need to tend my own garden and invite people into it.
This is non-negotiable for me. It’s a boundary I need to set. Not a “write every day” kind of boundary, but I at least need my own “genius hour.” It’s fine that I’m working on these collaborative projects, but my creative self needs to be seen, first and foremost by my own self.
The 23rd.
As much as I know deeply that I need to create this creative “frame” for my “genius hour” work, I find myself ambivalent about doing anything. I care so very little about the next project or book or class—things that used to make me feel alive. I have been patient with myself, but I do get antsy. Still, I think it’s worth it to continue stopping and listening to whatever’s there, despite how uncomfortable it is.
The 24th.
“My art is bolder than I. It sends messages of me out into the world.” —The Swallowed Man by Edward Carey
This experiment may end up making me completely useless to other people. But I want to see if I can reset my internal motivation. If I can do that, it will be worth it. Even if I’m never productive or consistent or prolific or recognized ever again.
I have anxiety around listening to my creative self and following where she leads. She’s so impulsive and never finishes anything she starts. I don’t know if that’s really true. But she is very aware of motivation. It’s important for her to be motivated by the right things. If she’s motivated by joy, she doesn’t mind committing, but right now those motivations are complicated.
I’m detoxing from doing what I think is going to give me the results I want. Instead, I’m focusing on the process. I’m trying to find/reset my inner compass. I’m trying to be lit by the lantern inside of me. That’s not an easy thing to do, but it’s worth it. I think. I hope. I’ve never had the courage to fully see it through.
It’s interesting noticing all the stuff going on inside me. I feel so much turbulence. One minute I really want to do new things and another, I don’t. I waffle between wanting to be public and stay private.
The question that keeps fearfully presenting itself in my mind is, what if I don’t want to do anything ever again? What if I can’t trust myself? This is why I’m worried about not being visibly productive. I’m scared that this approach is just…not enough. But do I really believe that? Of course not. When I’m lit from within, that is literally and absolutely the best contribution I can make.
The 25th.
I go slow. Which is weird because I’ve always thought of myself as a rocket ship. But I just…don’t anymore. Which actually is moving me into a faster (maybe?) growth pattern in the ways I actually want to grow.
I want to grow in joy. And peace. And belonging. I want to grow in what it means to be uniquely myself.
These things mean I have to put other things on the back burner. Like productivity. The expectations of others. Opportunities for fame and/or fortune. Becoming a better person, even.
It feels right, but it doesn’t necessarily feel good. I have a lot of fear around it. I’m afraid people are going to think I’m lazy or using my privilege in selfish ways. I’m afraid my contributions will be less measurable and less valued. I’m afraid of being labeled as inaccessible or flighty or undependable.
But I have to also remember what I stand to gain. A recovery of my intrinsic motivation. High levels of creativity and engagement. Flow. New projects in the world that would have never existed because only “Sarah” could have dreamed them up (or would have wanted to).
No regrets. If other things fail because of this new way of orienting myself, I will still be supported by me. I will not resent or be jealous of anyone else’s growth and flourishing and change because it will not have kept me from me own.
These things are precious to me. I’m excited to see how I grow in this direction rather than in the direction I think will be best for everyone else.
The 26th.
What do I want this morning? I feel flat, empty. Maybe coffee will kick in soon. I’ve been reading in Daniel Deronda all of these examples of how “doing what you want” is a terrible way to live, leading to discontent, ennui, and worse. Is that true? To some extent, a life without hardship seems like it could cause these things, but it also seems like life always has its challenges—I mean, discontent, ennui, etc. are challenges. There is no escaping hardship. We must have some puzzle to solve. Maybe that’s what gives our lives meaning.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it to do the hard work of listening to our hearts and examining our lives and trying to discern what it is we really want. It’s actually a harder path, not an easier one.
The 27th.
After all this detox from “doing”, I’m beginning to think that me wanting to do something in particular isn’t a reliable indicator of what will bring me joy. I think whenever I do feel compelled, I need to take that cue because it’s pretty much always right. But that part of me is often quiet.
I need to create space to listen to my heart, but not the expectation that my heart will always have something to say. When it doesn’t, I use my self-knowledge to direct my path. I do what I know/suspect will lead me to connection with my heart. And I keep listening.
The 28th.
I know that I feel best when I’m creating something, but getting myself to that place is difficult. I don’t have the heart to make anything. I want to want to, but I don’t want to.
My heart feels absolutely wrung out. I feel inspired to inhabit my creative self, but I also feel so tired. I do not know what to do.
The 29th.
“From the state in which I found the pages, I could tell the man was tortured by the impossibility of translating what swirled around his soul into a symphony that would render the same swirlings to the soul of a listener, and that was enough for me to know that his music was beautiful.” —The Byoglu Municipality Waste Management Orchestra by Kenna Orhan
I’ve been thinking about this “artist” question and why people who insist on distinctions of what is art and what is not are both insufferable and at least partially right.
“Art” isn’t just about the product or the outcome of what is made. It is also about the spirit of how it was made. It is in the nuance and the eye and the heart of the artist themselves, who regard their intent and their process and their vision just as highly as the outcome.
It’s not about snobbery. It is about valuing something that is easily neglected by the world at large—the element of the spiritual, the elevated, the intensity of feeling and that sensitivity of heart that it takes to make something that has that quality. It is the unexplainable and the indescribable and the transcendent. To paraphrase Penn Jillette (as my teammate often reminds me), it is spending so much more time, thought, imagination, and heart on something than any person would think it’s worth. That’s the secret of magic, and the secret of art itself.
That is really what I want my life to be oriented around—not an artifact, or the production of anything in particular, but about the state of the heart and the creative impulse that comes out of that. My own heart (since that’s the only one I have access to), as a unique and irreplaceable thing that needs protecting and prioritizing.
I want to live as an artist, not be focused on the output of an artist. I want the joy of that, of exploring my interests and letting it take its time.
Who knows if I will ever recover my ability to make things without fear? I don’t know if I ever had that fearlessness to begin with. It was often partially driven by some practical need. But I don’t care. I don’t care about the results, I mean. I just want to live joyfully, from the heart. That is my deepest intent and I know that the biggest part of that is following my own north star. Believing in it, not apologizing for it, pursuing it, celebrating it.
It feels like a new chapter is beginning, maybe the chapter I’ve been preparing for all my life. I thought my role as CEO of our company was it, and I did learn so much from that. But I now believe all of that was to provide contrast so I can see even more clearly what my heart is longing for. Because without the focus on communal leadership, my own heart and art would not feel as if it had faded away. And also as if I had never really trusted or believed in it at all.
But I do now. It’s scary, but I do. I just need to support this newfound clarity so that it continues to grow and bloom. I have not done so in the past, and other considerations and responsibilities and doubts have choked it out.