September 2020
The 2nd.
I’ve turned on notifications in an attempt to stop checking my apps. It’s strange to rely on notifications to tell me when to check things. It seems so rare that there is actually something for me to check. I feel forgotten, almost. The loneliness of my relationship to most of the world is almost startling when I think about it. We put so much pressure on ourselves to “be productive” and to live these great lives, but nobody actually cares what we do. I’m glad I’ve prioritized right-in-front-of-me life over Internet life. It’s easy to mistake online interaction for real relationship.
The 12th.
It feels like this is the first time this week I’ve gotten to sit down and be intentional about how I want to spend my time. It has been a whirlwind of conversations and processing and anxiety and trying to get my work done. This morning we’ve been trying to solve the air problem in our house because the smoke from these wildfires is oppressive and making our lungs hurt.
The 13th.
“Everybody’s trying their very, very best, and it’s never very good.” —David Whyte
I wonder what today will bring. It was so good to attend David Whyte’s Half a Shade Braver seminar this morning. I have been so weary from the events of the week, and I haven’t had the energy to direct myself in my own learning. Sometimes we can borrow that energy from others, simply by convening together at an agreed-upon time. I think that needs to be an element of my learning more often. I appreciate digital content and asynchronous learning, but it does require significant energy that sometimes I do not have. I mistake my lack of capacity for a lack of interest, and that is never the case. My apathy sometimes confuses me, since I am such a curious person, and learning is the food that keeps me going. I’m so grateful for times when I can simply participate in something that is already happening, specifically when it is a large group that doesn’t require my physical presence or verbal participation. It is a good mix for me. I do not dread it.
The 17th.
Wow, today was super busy. This week was super busy. I had so many sales conversations. It felt good, but also like…what? How did this happen? We had nothing and then we had everything. I don’t understand it. Hopefully some of this will turn into revenue for our team.
I’m happy to be doing work that is important to others. And tomorrow I get to talk about it at All Hands, which is fun.
I haven’t gotten to spend a whole lot of time intentionally, but it’s hard to do that when I start my day with meetings. It’s also really okay. This is a season, and I’m doing my best.
The 18th.
Another weird day. Another not-very-intentional-but-quite-busy day. Trying to get back on track, but it’s hard to get in my own headspace with everyone else around. I don’t mind it really. But I also know that I need to connect with myself at some point or I’m going to regret it later.
I feel my lungs tickling when I breathe. This smoke is terrible. I can’t wait to go outside again and breathe big gulps of clean air without needing a mask to filter it.
The 20th.
Crying and napping and being afraid of having COVID and of people I love having COVID took up a good portion of my day today. Sigh.
Sometimes I do not have the energy to be intentional, and I wonder if the friction of intentionality is worth it. If I just move from thing to thing without really thinking about it, do I do more? Does it flow better? Every decision is heavy. But if it’s not a decision, if it’s more like a movement, would it be a lighter lift?
But that kind of “flow” often feels like a hostage situation to me. Like I am not driving, only going along with whatever is happening around me. I’m often not happy with the results. But is it truly that I’m not spending my time as I would wish, or it that pausing and being intentional my choice and narrating that choice to myself makes me feel calmer, more powerful? I don’t know. But narrating my own life and process is a sort of power. And I do think it’s a fine one, as long as I don’t take myself completely seriously. I shouldn’t believe too strongly in my own fictions.
The 21st.
An open and free start to the week. I’m excited to work on my book. And also scared. I haven’t touched it in a while. All the more reason to do that today, I guess.
Man, did I just start a week in which things are “normal” again? My life and work and the state of the world knocked me off balance for no less than two weeks. But I’m grateful that our work seems to be finally bearing some fruit. I hope it continues and continues and continues. I think it will.
The 25th.
I need to remember to put my own needs first, before the needs of my ambition, my ego, my personality, my job in the world. My work doesn’t take long and isn’t difficult when I take care of myself. It comes easily and gracefully. I don’t have to fret about it.
Fretting—that has been my theme lately. I’ve been holding that anxiety close, and alternately pushing that anxiety away. I haven’t just let it be what it is and enjoy the whole experience of my life.
The 27th.
All the true vows are secret vows, the ones we speak out loud are the ones we break.
There is only one life you can call your own and a thousand others you can call by any name you want —from “All the True Vows” by David Whyte
I’m thinking about the idea of “making contact”—it was the final piece of wisdom offered in David Whyte’s Half a Shade Braver lecture.
How do I make contact? I think in our performative, productivity-addicted culture, it is a difficult thing. It is hard to do something because it makes you come alive and then NOT RUIN IT by extracting the monetary and social value of doing that.
I feel anxiety around doing things “just for me.” I get excited thinking about how much other people might love it. I get less excited about how I might love it, and what it takes for me to love it.
It is difficult. Even now as I find myself getting close to something that feels like the truth, I want to publish it. This is why we can’t have nice things.
But of course, this isn’t new. Artists and writers and great thinkers—people who we think of as above peddling their wares—have been doing this for centuries. People have always invested their lives in their careers, in fame, in whatever social capital they might be searching for. We think they became famous because they were good, but that is only part of it. They became famous because they were invested in their fame. They advocated for it. They sought it out, even if they simultaneously tried to look disinterested in it. Fame without an enormous amount of effort into getting famous is rare. This includes public recognition of any kind.
And with the Internet, fame is in our reach in a way it never was before. Career and social success feels like something we can craft, if only we capture the pieces of our lives in a way that adds value to others.
But we know this. None of it is new. The question is—what do we lose when we extract the social and career capital from our lives—from every aspect of who we are, from every creative thought (or at least the best aspects of who are and our best creative thoughts)? I think what we lose is our capacity for “making contact”—of the uninhibited experience of doing something because it makes us come alive. Essentially, the most satisfying part of being human.
Now of course, this “contact” isn’t guaranteed to us just by breathing and having a life protected from the watchful eyes of the social cloud. But for those of us for whom creativity is a part of our identity…part of what makes us feel life is worthwhile…the constant extrapolation of that creativity for productive ends is enough to kill it eventually. (I’m thinking about that interview with that rapper Lauren sent to me here.) We call it burnout, but I wonder if it’s more like a scream within our soul—STOP EXPLOITING ME.
This is coming up for me, I’m realizing, after a few months of re-entry into being active on social media. I’ve noticed my tendency toward shutting down when it feels like any eyes are on me. Even if there aren’t many. I’m trying to sneak my creativity into the public eye, tricking my soul into being okay with this, by doing it in private at first. But I don’t think my soul is stupid. I think it’s on to me.
It makes me sad because I want to have more public awareness of my work, and I want to do it in a way that feels authentic. But sometimes it feels like that means taking what is deeply and profoundly true and trying to profit from it. Aggressive infomercials almost feel better than that.
At the same time, this is the cynic in me talking. We create our own reality, and what the cynic in me is needing is to have a rich interior life first. Something that is for me alone. And then share whatever feels relevant out of that.
I don’t think everything has to be ruined by being made public. But intent matters. Origins matter. And I absolutely know that what I must create needs to be for myself first, Or else I think one day my creative soul might abandon me completely.
The 30th.
I think aliveness is different than enjoyment. It it so enjoyable to sit in a cozy chair and have a cup of tea and read a good novel. But it doesn’t necessarily make me come alive. Often the things that make me come alive require some sort of effort. I may not want to practice yoga or be in community or put ingredients together to make a meal. I may not feel like going for a walk or immersing myself in an art experience. It may feel wasteful or like too much effort.
And that is the secret, I think. It is coming to an understanding of the things that make you come alive and placing them at the very root of your life.