I wake on a regular day, a Tuesday perhaps, and press my bare feet to the floor and suddenly I just want to scream LOOK AT ME, I'M HERE! and then the heads swivel and the eyes settle on me and I want to curl up in a ball and whisper: never mind.
Because it's just Tuesday, you see. Another day in a string of days that look alike but somehow are not the same, like cousins. But I don't want it to be another Tuesday. I want to soar and sing and CHANGE THE WORLD. But first? I have to make breakfast and pack lunches and do dishes and fold laundry and soon the feeling is gone and it's just another day.
Then the itch comes again, like a balloon inflating deep inside, I scrabble and search and tweet and blog and write and wonder: can anybody see me? Hello? Can anyone save me from Tuesday?
My muse flits just outside of my peripheral vision. I'm over here, she taunts, and I turn my head and poof! she's gone, because I'm busy with the daily-ness of life.
What came first, I wonder. The blog or the words? Would I have this urge to be seen, to be heard, if I didn't have this little place to come park my thoughts?
Why, I wonder. Why can't I go about my days without the inflating balloon, without the taunting muse, without the pseudo-spotlight of my words being heard.
Because if you go quiet, my muse answers, then it will just be Tuesday.
Would the outlines of my day-to-day life grow clearer, more present, without the tug of this space? Or would they fade into a blur of ordinariness, the poignancy of moments left dusty and forgotten without the words to give them life?
Would a moment just be a moment? Would I scramble for my camera, capture scribbled notes on scraps of paper to remember for later if I wasn't crafting the words in my head? What would Tuesday look like without the pseudo-spotlight?
So I wake up and press my bare feet to the floor and I let the moments come. I try to let them be, but the muse is always there, taunting me. I try to resist her siren call, but the scraps of paper with scribbled words pile up and the camera snap snaps the pictures and I think: look at me. I'm here.
You, too? Maybe not in the same way, but I use my blog (www.sandiratch.blogspot.com if anyone is interested, because I need external approval to feel good about myself and have some purpose) as a touchstone to reality. But is anybody listening? What is the point of blogging if no one is listening. But then I write a good one, and someone different comments on it. And someone from my choir mentions that she really enjoys reading it. But the accolades are never enough. Perhaps it is a type of addiction. But hopefully not an entirely unhealthy one. And no matter what you do, it is still just Tuesday.
ReplyDeleteOh ... and, by the way, I quite enjoy your blog. Although not a recovering addict, I am a person who deals with anxiety and depression and I make jewellery and have a 7-year-old. So I relate to a lot of what you write.
ReplyDeleteYep, that's a big reason why I blog. It makes my ordinary life more interesting, I look at everything differently, thinking... could I blog about this? :) Then there is the struggle to find the time to share yourself this way. Motherhood is a balancing act!
ReplyDeleteEvery time I come here I fall more in love with you. And I think, this woman understands. And it feels so good to be understood and to know others are just like me. SO GOOD. So whatever the reason, I want you to know that I see you. I know you are here, and I am so glad you are!
ReplyDeleteI used to think I'd be a better person/mom if I stopped all this.
ReplyDeleteNow I think I would be frustrated and unfulfilled.
But I have many moments where I have to address the shame I feel of spending more time with my writing/ambition than with my children.
Thank you for putting such clear words to that tug, that urge to make Tuesday...maybe not MORE than it would be, but a day worth remembering. My favorite quote about writing is an old one, but very applicable to blogging:
ReplyDelete"It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop." Vita Sackville West.
While I am not in Recovery, I find many of your challenges so resonant, and the candor with which you express them so brave. I have sent your site to a number of people who I believe can find support in your journey.
Thank you for writing. I look forward to your many musings, both light-hearted and thought provoking. And I love your jewelry! You are an artist in so many ways. Keep following your muse!
Kindred Spirits - I ADORE that quote. Thank you so much for sharing it. That one is a print-out-and-put-up-in-my-office keeper.
ReplyDeleteChristine - THANK YOU. And that falling in love feeling? It's totally mutual. :)