Writing

I read just a moment ago, that "nothings is so revealing of a person's true self as a piece of his writing". I wondered a couple of things when I read that. First, I wondered about a person I met recently, who I know primarily through their writing on the internet, both in original pieces, and in comments left on other works. I think I've been able to craft a relatively accurate picture of their attitudes and personality from their writing, both the content and the deliberate omissions.

To be honest, the picture I've formed of them is not a flattering one. One could argue that I'm predisposed to think harshly of people. You could also argue that what this person chose to write is only an indication of what is in their mind, or perhaps, what they would like other people to think is in their mind, and that I have every right to form a critical picture from that information.

At the same time, there are omissions. There are corrections. There are efforts to be kind, to be good, to show a good heart behind the words.

I might be harsh, but I might also be correct. I'm also reading a lot of their writing, but they're prolific. I'd like to stop, to be honest. Thinking too much about someone else's soul being bared on the internet is no way to be growing my own soul, my own thoughts.

The other part I wonder about is my own writing. Of course I should be judged just as critically as I judge. Of course people should look at my written work and form a picture of me in their mind.

I think, over the years, that I really want people's approval. I need people to believe in me, and be proud of me. I feel like I let people down all the time, by not living up to potential, by not being good enough. I also have terrible stage fright. I had all the classical piano training but none of the real talent, and at every single recital, I choked. Writing is like that for me now. Something I used to enjoy in my own time, now fills me with anxiety to get it right whenever I try and work on it.

The other problem with writing these days is that too much of the external works its way into my work. I tried for a long time to do the morning pages that are recommended in The Artist's Way. I filled several notebooks with diligent pages every morning... and then found that I no longer wrote in my journal in the afternoons. Then I realized it was because my morning pages were absorbing all the stuff that usually went into my journals, and if you looked at that content, it was all bitching and moaning about whatever some guy in my life had said or done recently to upset me.

Basically, I felt that my morning pages were a waste because I was just filling them with junk. Now I wonder if, even though it was junk, it was necessary junk. As in, nothing really great was going to spring from the ink on those pages, but by bleeding out all the bullshit that clutters up my mind about men, about shit that doesn't matter, I was freeing up my brain to focus on other things. The fact that I wasn't taking the time or effort to actually write those other things doesn't really have anything to do with the content of the morning pages, it has to do with the fact that I failed to come forward and create anything new or interesting or worthwhile.

Maybe I don't have anything interesting to say.

Or maybe I should just be like the person I judged, and say a bunch of things that remind me of high school -- be a little selfish, be a little lost, be a little explorative.

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January 15: I did a workout, sewed two harnesses, read from three books, and fed four cats.

Time for change

This morning I was talking with my partner after breakfast, about what kind of changes we wanted to make moving forward.

It was interesting to me because I really wanted to focus on making more quality time for myself, of stepping away from being busy, and to create space (both physical and mental) in order to do that. But his perception of me was that I wasn't that busy, really.

I kept that in mind when I came home, and immediately began tidying up my house, which my roommates had left all cluttered. It can't be attributed to the holidays, either, it's simply the fact that every horizontal surface gets something set on it, and nothing ever seems to make it to where it actually belongs.

I had come home, but my time wasn't my own. I had to spend it tidying. You could certainly argue that nobody was making me tidy, but also, the fact is that I couldn't do anything else. I can't sit at a table when there is no table to be had. I can't roll out a yoga mat when there is clutter on the floor. I can't begin my own project when abandoned projects are cluttering up a space I had made for myself. Am I to just hide in my room, unless I want to watch television? Intolerable.

That is not my time. That is taking my time from me.

Time is very precious to me. Quality time spent with my partner is the number one thing I want. Time uninterrupted where I may work on my own projects is my ultimate dream. Time to rest is precious.

Things I do not have time for: Drama, conversations in which I am not a participant, traffic jams, fallacies. Other people's neglect.

We talked, my partner and I, about pushing boundaries with each other. About exploring outside out comfort zones, because we have become very comfortable with each other, and that gives a safe place from which to push ourselves forward.

These things take time.

I pushed myself forward today, after some tidying and a chat with my roommate, I pushed myself out the door to go for a run. I realized recently that running was the key component that was missing from my life. I began running when I was 29, 5 years ago. I turned 5k races into 50 mile trail runs. I pushed a hobby to a point where it was taking up too much of my time, and in the last 2 years, I ran less and less.

But running is the linchpin that connects several parts of my journey. I have been working out with an online trainer, but I never feel the same feeling that I do at the end of a run. Running is silent, solo, and personal. I enjoy time with the trainer, but there is music, encouraging chat, and other people watching and working along. I enjoy this, but running alone is a crucial counter-balance. Additionally, it gives extra cardio. And sometimes you get to see squirrels.

As HIIT is the cross-training to my running, running is the warm-up to my yoga. I am a terrible yoga practitioner. I am inflexible, I am unbalanced, I am not really mentally into it or excited about stepping on to the mat. However, I know that yoga is good for me, good for my goals of flexibility and posture, good for practicing being present and focused on a new skill. And running warms my body up for that, makes me less likely to shy away from it.

These things take time. It's often discouraging to me to look at a yoga video on YouTube, and note the time. 32 minutes? That sounds so long! Think of all the pointless scrolling on Instagram that I could do. Think how many pages I could read. How many nachos I could eat. 32 minutes, I am expected to watch this video for that long and follow along and not be distracted?

I used to run for hours. Literally hours. As training. I'd wake up before the sun, and go out, and when the sun began to rise I'd head home so I wouldn't get burned. I am slow.

Running reminds me that it takes time. Time spent running never feels as long as it is. I need to remind myself that change takes time. Time must be made for these things.

I might look even busier now that I've added yoga and running back into my life. I think about it as time spent. I will spend time, 24 hours ever day, just like anyone else. Forcing myself to be productive, to tidy and clean, to work hard, is a way that I convince myself that I'm not useless. I feel useless often, because I don't take the time to practice new skills, to create, to really sit and focus inward, to cultivate something new and creative and honest. But, I tell myself, I had to do the laundry. I had to visit my family. I had to go to work and get the car taken care of and work on the house. I had to spend time with my housemates and my partner. I had to make sure that everything else outside of me was taken care of.

These are excuses for not using my time for myself.

Running sucks up time. It makes me tired. But it also makes me happy. It makes me exhausted with a glow, with a high of accomplishment. It makes my muscles warm. It's something I do purely for myself.

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January 1: I ran, I did hands-free yoga flow. I folded my laundry and cleaned away some shirts I no longer want. I collected a sample for a Covid antibody test. I took my medicine.

Who Are You

Invigorated after reading The Spellman Files by Lisa Lutz, I went back to the library to see what else she had written. Sadly, despite a prolific literary career, my branch only had one other book on offer: The Swallows.

I haven't finished yet so I can't really speak to the work as a whole, but I'm loving it. Lutz's style is very noir without being heavy-handed. I didn't realize how much of a mystery was being told, because you're always very interested and invested in what is happening on the page at every moment, rather than waiting to get through the "boring" bits in order to get answers. This is a pitfall in books with multiple narrators, and I think this is one of the only times I've ever been interested in hearing every perspective on the matter.

In any case, my topic for the day is to follow the writing exercise assigned early in the novel, anonymously answering the following 5 questions:

1. What do you love?

2. What do you hate?

3. If you could live inside a book, what book?

4. What do you want?

5. Who are you?

Since I am only one author on the blog, the only way I can answer anonymously is to write it several times, and not indicate which one is the true answer.

The other sets of answers are for people I have made up, or book characters, or people I know. Who do you imagine when you read the answers? A man, a woman, or someone else? Someone who is happy? Frustrated? Stuck? Bored? Excited?

1. What do you love? Painting, unburdening my heart

2. What do you hate? The inside of my mind, my landlord

3. If you could live inside a book, what book? A Hymnal

4. What do you want? To be successful and loved. I want to be healed. I want someone else to see the world with me.

5. Who are you? Unrecognized

1. What do you love? Being alone, reading, drinking tea.

2. What do you hate? The public, being open, having to deal with my emotions, doing work.

3. If you could live inside a book, what book? The Martian

4. What do you want? For all humans to die

5. Who are you? I'm more mature and in control than I let on. I'm duplicitous.

1. What do you love? Music, plants, hurting, running. Tequila. Colorado.

2. What do you hate? Submitting, admitting that I'm wrong. Cats.

3. If you could live inside a book, what book? Shantaram

4. What do you want? To die and be alone

5. Who are you? Stubborn

1. What do you love? Cats, books, feeling passion, being successful. Rainy days.

2. What do you hate? Hypocrisy, injustice, people who get away with things

3. If you could live inside a book, what book? The Golden Compass

4. What do you want? Strength, a personal library, to be accomplished

5. Who are you? I'm a waste of potential

1. What do you love? Sleeping, running, exercising. Food, the internet. Talking shit about other people.

2. What do you hate? Anyone outside my house, when it rains.

3. If you could live inside a book, what book? Winnie The Pooh

4. What do you want? Freedom, independence, my own room. Attention.

5. Who are you? I'm a spoiled princess

I feel like the more I write these, the more true they can be. Even if I'm not writing about myself.

It's a good character building or personal building exercise, a fun way to try and fall into someone else's head. And a good way to discover your own perspective on who you think someone is vs who they think they are.

Try it yourself.