And now, a few thoughts about inspiration.
Is distress a motivator? Is it easier to be creative under the weight of unhappiness, anxiety, or that nibbling whisper of self-doubt?
Is happiness incompatible with bursts of productivity? That doesn't seem likely, and yet must be the explanation for my lack of output in the recent weeks. I have been blessed with some of the most relaxing, stress-free times of my life lately, in which I am released from the vague, non-specific apprehension which habitually hovers at the periphery of my consciousness. That nearly perfect state which led even my husband to note that he thought I was happier than I had been in a long time. I must agree, and don't take this gift of peace of mind lightly. This time was reserved for my opportunity to delve down a path of career diversion, to see whether any other than me is interested in anything I have to write. So why is it so hard?
Severe pressure results in flawless diamonds; war produces timeless literature; heartbreak yields transcendent poetry; misery and madness gave us Edgar Allen Poe, among others. So what does contentedness grant? Rainbows and unicorns do not make for compelling reading. No one wants to peek inside a happy life - it's the challenges that bring out our inner schadenfreude. Makes us feel better, does it not, when we aren't the only unhappy ones?
The challenge of this time will be to translate my comfort level into strength. To take power from my completeness, and propel it into creativity. This is my commitment to mobilize domestic serenity into professional satisfaction. I will do my best to make it entertaining. Maybe not a diamond; but better than brass.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Monday, February 3, 2014
Bring it on, Mother Nature
Way up on my list of things I inexplicably love is a nature-induced slow down. Probably a hangover from the grade school elation a snow day would bring, but as an adult there is nothing better than being forced into idleness by an event outside of your control. It's the idea that you WOULD have gotten everything on your list done, but just couldn't because the plows didn't hit your street and the courthouse is closed anyway. The day stretches luxuriously in front of you; there is enough food in the fridge, throws on the sofa, and movies on the DVR; ah, glorious snow day!
Sometimes at the lake the summer storms blow in from the west with such alacrity and darkness that you can't prudently drive home into it, or here on the plains the rains come sideways so there is no sense in trying to leave the restaurant until at least another round, or the ice covers everything with a sheen so treacherous you can only stay home and inside, and if your friends are stuck with you all the better. Once a decade ago the ice storms downed tree branches by the yards full, crushing patio furniture and ripping power lines off their poles; electricity was off for over a week, meaning no school, no work, no heat for many. My house stayed warm, through a combination of gas heat and improvised furnace modifications, and we bravely cooked up the freezer goodies that wouldn't be good in another two days using natural gas and candlelight. Family and friends stayed for days while the perilous outside world was off limits. It felt like we had escaped our everyday lives for a cocoon of slow, old-fashioned self-reliance. Knowing it would be temporary helped, but for a few days we entertained ourselves with piano and board games, reading and talking. The outside world felt distant and false.
I like things to be in order, and with predictability; some less concerned about tact might call me a control freak. It must be that desire for structure that makes me contrarily love a snow day - I am forced to sit back and chill, let Mother Nature do her deeds, and there is nothing I can do about it. Then I feel free to let go of my needs in favor of something looser and bigger than me. I can enjoy my family safe in my warm home, and revel in this rare ability to linger in the moment with them.
This week my mid-west city is staring down the barrel of a snow storm we have been spared thus far this winter. I have gone to the store, spread ice melt on the sidewalks, checked the candles and my calendar, and tamped down my anxiety about school closings. The weather gods will have their way with us, and I for one will revel in it.
Sometimes at the lake the summer storms blow in from the west with such alacrity and darkness that you can't prudently drive home into it, or here on the plains the rains come sideways so there is no sense in trying to leave the restaurant until at least another round, or the ice covers everything with a sheen so treacherous you can only stay home and inside, and if your friends are stuck with you all the better. Once a decade ago the ice storms downed tree branches by the yards full, crushing patio furniture and ripping power lines off their poles; electricity was off for over a week, meaning no school, no work, no heat for many. My house stayed warm, through a combination of gas heat and improvised furnace modifications, and we bravely cooked up the freezer goodies that wouldn't be good in another two days using natural gas and candlelight. Family and friends stayed for days while the perilous outside world was off limits. It felt like we had escaped our everyday lives for a cocoon of slow, old-fashioned self-reliance. Knowing it would be temporary helped, but for a few days we entertained ourselves with piano and board games, reading and talking. The outside world felt distant and false.
I like things to be in order, and with predictability; some less concerned about tact might call me a control freak. It must be that desire for structure that makes me contrarily love a snow day - I am forced to sit back and chill, let Mother Nature do her deeds, and there is nothing I can do about it. Then I feel free to let go of my needs in favor of something looser and bigger than me. I can enjoy my family safe in my warm home, and revel in this rare ability to linger in the moment with them.
This week my mid-west city is staring down the barrel of a snow storm we have been spared thus far this winter. I have gone to the store, spread ice melt on the sidewalks, checked the candles and my calendar, and tamped down my anxiety about school closings. The weather gods will have their way with us, and I for one will revel in it.
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