They say write like you’re trying to create art, because you are. I suppose that philosophy extends to everything including dance, music, baking, just everything. But I feel so sure that true art has been beyond my reach for sometime now. I’m not in a rut or anything, but I totally am.
I walk the routes of my day to day life feeling utterly uninspired. Maybe it’s the turn of the season, maybe I’m just growing up, maybe something is broken somewhere deep in the machinery of my mind. I can’t remember the last time an idea caught me up in a fiery affair leaving me weak at the knees and completely incapable of anything other than the ability to write about it. I can’t remember the feelings that accompany young love, that zero gravity stomach drop of a crush. I can’t remember what it feels like to wake up in the morning utterly excited for the day ahead.
So, recently I’ve really been struggling. Struggling to find the point to getting up, struggling to not morph into a crazy neurotic person, and struggling to let myself quietly accept love.
It’s the little things that I know are keeping me grounded. I know I will come out of this and I know I will find those feelings again so every day, I try to focus on the tiny goods.
I write everyday, or at least try to. Maybe it’s not art, but it’s a tiny victory flag planted on the top of my Mt Everest. I try to go outside everyday, maybe I’m not creating art, but hey at least I’m looking at the sun and the flowers and the trees, at least I’m enveloped in art. I try to move my body every day, to dance, or do a couple of push ups and squats or even just some light stretching. It doesn't matter that I’m not benching 200kg, all that matters is that I’m compounding the habits I want when I eventually scramble out of this rut.
Winter and I are not entirely suited anymore I don’t think.