My previous post was number 1300.I'm thinking of making a commitment to daily posting in 2011.
It was much easier to write posts when my life was full of issues.
Don't get me wrong.
I am grateful for a settled life.
And it's not as if I've arrived.
Lord knows I haven't and never will.
It just leaves me scratching my head about what to write about.
I've been reading this greatest book about being creative and writing called What It Is. AuthorLynda Barry has lots of thought provoking ideas in it.
I found it in the young adult graphic novel section of my public library after hearing the author interviewed on the radio. It looks like an innocent book. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a graphic novel. Weird term.
One little bit in it has haunted me from the first reading:
"An iceberg is a big chunk of ice that floats in the sea. Sea water is not clear. It hides most of the iceberg. In order to be safe from underwater danger, ship captains steer away from icebergs."
And then below that is the question "How is a thought like an iceberg?" She goes on to ask what thoughts are made of. Can one have thoughts without language? Is thinking voluntary or involuntary.
That kind of stuff sucks me right in. She has a new book about drawing, too.
Today I told a friend that I like reading books about writing nearly as much as I like to write. I've been frozen with fear quite a bit lately when it comes to writing. Facing how much anxiety I live with in most of my life, really. I would never have believed it had someone observed it about me out loud.
Actually someone did a few years ago and wrote it on my medical record and I was about as pissed as one can get when I read it. A few months ago I had a moment where I was facing a possible wretched outcome at work and the anxiety in my body wouldn't leave even after I had mentally worked through it. I asked myself when had I felt like that before and I knew I had lived in that state of anxiety my whole childhood. The awareness in that moment brought tears instantly to the surface. I thought I had worked through my childhood shit.
That episode prompted me to ask myself what would happen if I entertained the possibility that I live with anxiety on a regular basis. Kind of in the vein of "me thinks you do protest too much". I don't know if it's a relief to acknowledge it but at least I'm not spending energy fighting reality. At least that bit.
P.S. It was -42C with wind chill at one point today. That's -43.6F. Thankfully a chinook is on its way.
7 comments:
I can so relate to your last few posts.
Hang in there dear one. And know that you are loved.
-42? Yikes! On my side of the continent we're sweating. Does it ever seem like living in a place of such bitter coldness heightens anxiety? Not that I'm recommending a move = instead of cold, we have bugs and humidity that prevent us from enjoying nature.
Anxiety...yup, since childhood. It's so familiar that it's easy to ignore. Sometimes it's almost like the spot of light that's left in your vision after a camera flash; just a little off to the side and hard to look straight at it.
arrrgh -43?!? We got the leftovers of the snow system that you guys had; I'll pass on the deep freeze but I'll take the chinook. ;)
Mich
-42C outside and you're still plugging away, writing? Never mind if it was only at one point, with a wind chill factor -- you are much stronger than you realize!
That book sounds intriguing!
I, too, spent just about my entire childhood feeling anxious. Nowadays, the only time I recognize my anxiety is after I'm feeling better! I don't know if that makes sense, but I don't notice the anxiety as much as I suddenly notice the ABSENCE of anxiety!
I'm so glad you're posting! :)
"It was much easier to write posts when my life was full of issues."
Ain't that the truth! But why, I wonder? ;-)
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