In preparation for November
I have lived in a thousand places online.
I've left each platform sometimes because of security, sometimes because I was tired of the audience, but I was noticeably a different writer in each place. I had an idealistic view of what this blog would be like and honestly I have no idea what it's become. I know I have a lot of friends that enjoy reading me here, but whether I've found any kind of solace or comfort writing here is yet to be decided. I feel like I have dropped a lot of what used to inspire me and replaced it with honesty, and while I know, for me, that's what I enjoy reading, I'm not sure it's what I enjoy writing.
I'm still here for now, though. I'm working on an outline for a novel for Nanowrimo, and I'm pouring every poetic ounce of myself into my characters, my fantastically fictional characters.
I went to the doctor last week for a biopsy. I'm okay, but she emphasized reducing my stress. She said even though things seem good, a lot is going on and I should do more to actively relax.
I don't feel stressed. I always have a lot going on. I'm always trying to tackle a novel, grow a baby, dance in three companies, and I don't feel any more stress now than I ever have, which is like, barely any. My blood pressure is perfect.
But then, lying back on the table feeling a pinch, looking up at the image of "Fat Cat Capsizing" on the ceiling, I thought about what really feels different right now, because something does and it's deeper than "becoming a mother". I'm not checked-in. Life feels dry. My creative well is full of electric bills and baby shoes and is missing a home base.
So I'm actively working on breath. I wake up in the mornings and take big deep breaths and relax between my eyebrows. That place moves with my emotions independent of all other parts of my body, but when I put my attention there, everything dissipates. I'm trying to relax within the busy life I have, within the writing platform I've chosen and let things be what they are.
And I'm actively working on art. My notebooks are filling up again and my fiction is taking shape.