the gift of your own grace

when you feel lost in the world's muchness

little marigold,

have you also felt a little lost lately?

I’ve got to be honest with you, friend of mine, I’ve been feeling more thrown off my game than surrendering to a bucking mechanical bull two whiskeys deep. my brain feels like a bleached barnacle; a fogged maze. caught in a rushing current of now—moving moment to moment without grounding myself in plans or projects; thoughts that last past the afternoon. 

have I written anything worthwhile in months? why haven’t I felt rooted in my new city yet? logically, I know, of course, I should take things easy. writing my last book, You Look Like Hell, felt utterly focused and crystalized in my head, taking up the bulk of my thinking, my emotional and creative energy, and my free time for over a year and a half. it makes sense that wading out of that world would be an adjustment. the summer has been one of almost constant movement. losing one of my closest family members and best friends, my Papa Paul, is not something I know how to process yet. yes, I’m in a new community, but my life is still starting here. 

I feel an urge to reach for comfort, familiarity—my desk at the office, a bike route I know by heart, a blank page and a deadline—that isn’t there. I’m sorry if I am almost three months into some of these changes and talking in circles (but herein lies my point, I feel caught in a loop). 

while I notice this phenomenon in myself, it’s almost as if an expectation has crept up—that there might be a set solution, a tried-and-true jumpstart, a hard reset to put us back in motion; a flick of a switch. craving tangible button-pressing to intangible issues. in reality, there is a matter of granting ourselves time to be in a funk and trusting (integrating changes when possible) that we will make our way back to creativity, contentment, or even a renewed sense of familiarity. (note: this realization has not kept me from moping around the house.) allowing a time for our own gentleness and grace in recouping. otherwise, I may as well be trying to catch up to where I was while running on an oil slick.

I notice the urge to dramatically transform what I’m doing until something feels right, but something tells me that road leads to more frustration. this isn’t necessarily about changing anything, but how to maintain your joy and sense of self through it. slow and subtle shifts. I cannot promise that any of these efforts work (and certainly not a quick fix), as I am very much within my “throwing noodles at the wall” stage in the process, but if you find it at all helpful, this is what I have been incorporating:

• began the Artist’s Way (as I write this, I’m on my fourth day in and adjusting my schedule to writing with more intention every day has been a welcome focus)

• riding around on my bike a lot or extending walks with my dog to explore a part of the neighborhood I haven’t seen yet

• doing things when I have the willpower before I overthink it (answering emails, going to the post office, etc.)

• setting aside a few hours to spend time somewhere new (bringing a notebook with me to a new coffee shop across town and writing stream-of-conscious, doing my weekly grocery run at a store I haven’t checked out yet)

• investing in myself via writing classes and seeking new opportunities, groups, and events

• closing my bedroom door/sticking to my solitude when I want to write or read

• stepping away from the thought loop (noticing when my thoughts start to race or worrying I’ll be funked forever, then walking away to spend time with friends)

• listening to what my body wants (e.g.: “it’s time-consuming, but I kind of want to make chicken parmesan this week.” “today I want to be a bit of a character, I’ll dress differently than I usually do.” “I didn’t sleep well last night, it’s okay to sleep in a bit.” or, on the inverse, “actually, I’m okay with waking up twenty minutes earlier today.”)

above all, finding a way to be okay if this funk lasts a little while. 

“but what’s next?”

six deep breaths. a recipe that requires your full attention. writing with pen and paper. a cold shower. a long drive. a music genre you haven’t tried before. several minutes examining your fingerprints. understanding none of this is wasted time. 

we will find ourselves again.

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
reading fund (venmo): schuylerpeck