I’m a singer-songwriter, but I haven’t been sharing any music during quarantine (like so many of my friends). I’ve posted a few photos and a few art projects on my public FB and IG pages, but mostly I’ve been silent.
Quarantine started out as this little oasis with my family. It was beautiful, precious and a welcome gift.
It still is.
But I went into quarantine with physical pain, and that pain didn’t stop. Visits with doctors and practitioners of multiple kinds, test, etc. but no answers. I’ve cycled through a myriad of emotions. Seven years is a long time to have chronic pain. On top of that, I had an illness in January that left me unable to sing my full range. I miss singing.
Not being able to sing and feeling too horrible to do much of anything else has allowed me to sum up this strange space of time in two words:
Which is the exact opposite of who I am as a human being. But totally unproductive has its place, as I’ve discovered.
It’s a great teacher.
I’m now creating things because I want to create them, not because I feel I need to put out content, or base any part of my worth in productivity. I’m reading more (which I love to do), which means new thoughts and ideas are entering my life and shining a BIG light on what needs to change.
I’m being still. . . a lot. I’ve cried a bunch. Let out some long pent up emotions. I’ve grappled with how to even plan my future when everything feels so uncertain, and then finally stopped trying, deciding rather to take it one day at a time.
I’ve surrendered and accepted God’s will in many ways.
Don’t really have a lot of those right now.
I feel like a blank slate. No goals. No plans. I’m beginning to be okay with that fact.
We’ve definitely done our fair share of supporting the local restaurant industry. And yes, my jeans are tight. And I’m okay with that too.
I guess I didn’t realize I was still trying to prove myself to myself, that I was still measuring every part of my life by some unconscious standard, so I kept moving and doing and planning and fighting, hoping change would somehow emerge in the chaos.
But I’m discovering that sometimes the greatest victories are found in surrender. I can’t be who I was. I’m not who I was. I’ve been through stuff; I’ve been changed. Guess I couldn’t let the new me out because I was too busy being busy in ways that kept me unchanged. It feels pretty good to sense that weight lifting off my shoulders.
Maybe the real gift in all of this unproductivity, lack of motivation, and crummy emotions will be finding me again–a new me, a better me, a stronger me, the me that’s been trying to emerge all along.