Friday, September 25, 2015

Another year fades into memory

What happened this summer? What happened to my year? Here we are in the early days of fall.  It's raining today. Meg is outside somewhere. I need to water all the houseplants, go for a walk, shower. It's noon so I have a few more hours of work time.

Mid-summer I said, " I'm taking a break from work, nannying will be done in August, the food cart is officially closed, I have nothing else. I'll take a month for myself, for my art, for my health."

 It's been 1 month exactly. I went to the naturopath, I went to the chinese herbalist, I went to the acupuncturist, I went to my intuitive healer. I didn't go to the doctor, because earlier in the year when I went to see my regular doctor she had nothing to tell me.

I sit in the studio for 5 hours a day, more or less, but I'm here. Sewing, writing, cutting, doodling, painting, sketching, listening to music. It doesn't matter what I do, I just have to be here. My rules - No TV, No podcasts, no movies, unless I have a project well underway and have brain space to share. Follow every idea. Don't judge any ideas. Take something a step further. Drink water. Eat as you need.

The first week I was anxious about not making enough money. I had to push that mindset away.

Adjusting to silence. I try to spend a few hours everyday, in complete silence. Listening to myself, listening, sitting with that feeling that wants to be occupied all the time.

I go to the gym mid-day, when it's quiet. I can read an old Sun Magazine in peace on the treadmill. Take a shower, head home. Sit with Meg, read a book, do some chores, take a nap, get dinner ready.

I bake Pita bread at a food truck every Sunday morning. I also bake cauliflower, but the pita is the highlight. I arrive in the very early morning. I crank the oven up to 600. As hot as it goes. I flour the yeasty dough and roll out 6 dozen. Bake them until they balloon, let them cool. Mike says, listen to this podcast, bring your music, but I like the silence with the bread. I imagine I live in the Middle East, I imagine I'm an old man who's been baking pita his entire life,  I imagine a bustling, dusty, marketplace, where people come for falafel. I imagine I'm every person who ever baked leavened bread since the beginning of bread.

A few days ago I had a realization. I'm hard on myself. Always. So. Hard. And because I'm so hard on myself I can't ever really see how good I really am. Even when people tell me. I think their lying. I doubt. Things can always be done better.

The sun came through the Sweetgum tree for a bit. Another day slinks by.

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