Adventures du jour!
Passed a test last night; feeling rather proud of myself today, if somewhat stubborn. More stubborn than most people. More stubborn than usual. Ornery? Obstinate? Perseverant? Intractable.
Yesterday I finally got caught up on posting the “adventures du jour” to Substack (a newsletter-like company), then posted a note about it on my friends list. I haven’t promoted anything of my own in months and it was like slipping on ice and accidentally doing the splits.
I think I’ve mentioned that I’m trying to do things that help ensure I’m able to survive success as a fiction writer. I think I also mentioned that I’m getting back parts of my personality from before I was with my ex, part of which involves digging back into the more creative side of my personality. Yeah, I’ve always been creative with *writing,* but there’s personality stuff that goes with it that got squashed.
Some of that personality stuff is good and cute and sweet (I’ve become a fervent hugger, sorry!); other parts of it are freaking monsters. *Normally,* when I beat myself up, it’s by saying that “I’m incompetent, I’m useless, I have no value.” I get a lot of “I’m a bad writer.”
I know how to deal with that stuff by this point. Is cool.
Yesterday was a test from the other side, which I’m *far* less used to: “I am not actually a person, everything is a personal attack, I am a monster underneath a mask and people would abandon me if they knew.”
I went, “Welp, get away from everyone before you lash out at someone,” took a bath, and cried.–I don’t know about you, but I cry to try to defuse violence and stupidity. What I really wanted was someone to “fix” me. When I was with the ex and I got emotionally uncomfortable, he’d “fix” whatever was wrong. He wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t sympathize, he didn’t actually care except to sift through whatever information I shared to find the one or two nuggets he could use later.
But he’d nod and say vague bullshit things about how I was brave, that I was handling things surprisingly well, how unique and special I was, etc., etc. All the things I didn’t get to hear as a kid and just kind of crave now, to unhealthy levels. Nice things, but at my age I should be able to tell them to myself now and then, especially when I’m that much of an inferno of insecurity. And I shouldn’t feel like I can’t function without having someone say those things. Because I can.
Cried a bunch, remembered a couple of times where the ex played me, remembered how panicked and awful I felt when I left him–because I didn’t think I could do *this* part alone. I didn’t think I could talk myself through a bout of intractable insecurity. But I did.
Unpleasant, like a two-year-old’s all-consuming tantrum. Felt like I could conquer the world after, though.
Didn’t get any writing done; got caught up on reading some stories that I *really* needed to get read so I could understand a writing thing. I get it better than I did before, but the proof is in the writing. I still had cramps yesterday and today (menopause is sooo fun), so minimal yoga. Still spent most of the yoga I did do drenched in sweat. Walking: the knee’s doing better; I can tell that working on stability is affecting it positively. Dancing: I put on a good dancing skirt yesterday! Fun. I haven’t done that for…fifteen years? I quickly discovered that socks are too slippery to do some moves in. See: involuntary splits. I maaaaay have ordered some jazz shoes. They may or may not fit my wide feet. Fingers crossed.
I got up this morning and felt intractable. On the walk I started talking to the mic while I was recording video snippets. And, playing it back, I didn’t hate the sound of my own voice. Which is new-ish, although there have been a few other times it was okay.
AND this morning I got to talk to a friend who is also kind of a “too much” person and who’s wondering if he’s doing the right things. (He is.) Which also helped. He talked to me about some specific exercises for knee and hip, too: bonus!
Anyway, over the course of this morning, I decided that this side of me, the part I’m not used to dealing with, gets to be too much on a consistent basis, no matter what anyone else thinks of it. (I may have to decide this a few more times before it really sticks.) It’s fine. I create mountains and mountains of bullshit on the road to anything worthwhile. And most of that can just get ignored.
But which parts are important and take off? And which parts are important but don’t get responses, and only later I’ll find out that someone valued it but “didn’t say anything at the time” because reasons?
Not. My. Problem.
Something that popped out of my mouth this morning was the idea that a healthy creative process is essentially uninteresting. “Where do you get your ideas?” The full, honest answer would BORE YOU TO TEARS.
The short (not quite honest) answer is that I show up to the mat. To the walk. To the conversation. To the page. To the camera. To whatever. I’m late and I’m chaotic and I’m ohhhhhh so flawed and angry and envious and greedy and petty and puerile and vain. But: still dragging ass and showing up. And putting SOMETHING out there, even though it fails most of the time.
I didn’t used to really think of the ability to show up as a big deal. I was never told it was valuable; I was told that I was too stubborn. And greedy for attention. And vain. And useless. And ridiculous.
But: when I see it in all y’all I admire it.
So we’ll go with that.
…
Link: The post about “where you get your ideas.”
Photo: Hand, eye, leaf.
Midjourney AI-generated image: An Amazon and her Saurian sister.
