career-girl, play nice.
Here we go again,
I’m back to feeling sorry for myself because I have to work for a living.
I’m back to disappointment in my choices of food, leisure, money habits.
I’m back to angsty weekends of not knowing how to spend my time exactly,
back to relying on the crutch named routine.
I’m back to believing the lie that my stay-at-home artists friends have a fabulous, carefree life.
I’m back to eating microwavable lunches.
I’m back to telling myself that being an artist was just a trial period.
“I was never really that gifted.”
I’m back to succumbing to the sadness of this past year.
I’m back to surrendering my days to further the futility of a foreign vision.
I’m back to being afraid that this is it.
I’m back to judging myself for all of the above.
I’m back to writing about it.
I was telling a girlfriend in a letter that I am so much more severe to my career-girl than to my artist-self. I’ve been working for 17 years (since I was 15, so 32-15=17….right BC?), so she's quite mature, adult, thick-skinned, and rather judgmental. My artist-self, roughly 2 years old, is insecure, unsteady, small. She needed a lot of time, leisure, grace, and assurance. Since career-girl (let’s call her Bianca. I have no idea why. Wait, it might have to do with a "Jem" reference…isn’t there a character in that cartoon that’s all snooty, spoiled, rough named Bianca?) has been since on the bench, she’s less practiced in the integration of these two people coexisting in my one frail body.
Emotions=fine. But once the inner judge decides that it is inappropriate to feel one way or the child inside is compulsively and impetuously disappointed about feeling another way, this is when things turn very terribly wrong in the whole self-care arena.
I figured that part out. Internal judge, be nice! Not hard.
I conquered caring for myself in that stay-at-home phase.
Will I find grace for myself again? Will I get swallowed up whole without the illusion of leisure? As the clock squeezes my soul through its merciless arms, will I again (eventually?) be able to show off this huge wingspan?
BECAUSE I DON'T CAGE WELL.I heard almost the exact same fears from a lovely friend last night on the brink of a serious and exciting new chapter in her life. Will I loose myself? Do I have what it takes to put another care onto my plate, balance it, and still look good walking around the room with it raised proudly above me? *
Emphatically to her, I pound on the table and say exclaim a resounding YES.
But to me, gently, sadly…ever so faintly a wee thing says to a formidable force “I must.”
And to all our souls the universe whispers,
Today. Just Today.
It’s all we need the strength for.
And if you stop, notice, listen.
You’ll find without a doubt…that you have it.
* Okay, she didn’t say that EXACTLY, because most people do not reference life changes with an allusion to being a butler, BUT I’ve been watching old Jeeves and Wooster with the saint, so I have this clear vision of a very capable, chic, and confident valet in my head.