I can’t write.
I never can’t write. I can always write. I write when I’m sad. I write when I’m miserable. I even write when I’m happy.
Yeah, maybe that doesn’t make sense to you? Seems backwards, doesn’t it? I guess it is backwards in a way. A lot of people can’t write when they are upset about something. I’m generally the opposite. I have more trouble finding the writing place when I’m happy and carefree and content.
Of course, perhaps that puts me in good company. I understand that the best artists compose, write, sculpt, or work however better when they have some kind of emotional turmoil.
Here’s the thing, though. If I can always write and in fact usually write better when I’m emotional, why can I not, now, write? I’m torn up, beaten down, shocked and just generally thrown for a loop.
The only explanation is that I am numb. I am having trouble feeling anything right now. I feel unsettled and unsure but I think the shock just hasn’t really set in yet. You cannot be an artist and be numb. You can write or compose or paint by the numbers, follow the rules, adhere to the plan but there isn’t a lot of room for artistic expression when you cannot conjure up any expressions at all.
I feel empty. Not quite broken, not entirely uncaring but … close.
I feel dangerously on the edge. “Throw it at me”, my mind is screaming. “Go on, do your worst, let me see what you have. I’ve made it this far, you bastard, if you think you can take me down now, go on and give it your best shot.”
I’m in the kind of mood it takes to be dangerous. I know things can be worse but from where I’m sitting it seems kinda bad already.
“Whatever”, my mind is saying. “Just … whatever.” I’ll deal with it, make it through, get to the other side, the light side of the tunnel, break the surface, get my head above water and … breathe.
Yeah, I’m a huge proponent of saying things like “breathing is overrated” but in reality, both you and I know that sometimes you really just need to step back and do nothing but breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. A couple of seconds go by, you breathe again, in, out, in, out, and before you know it, a minute has passed. Keep on breathing and a minute turns into two, turns into three, turns into ten and the breathing becomes more routine, easier, less to think about and suddenly an hour has passed. Concentrate on the moment to moment. Think about now, not about yesterday, not about tomorrow, not about what to do five minutes from now. Simply be, for this moment, simply be.
You can do it. I can do it. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. The only constant in life is change. Sometimes the change is good, sometimes the change is bad but there is always, always change. You can do it, you can hang on, do what must be done, take it moment by moment and just breathe.
I’ll meet you on the other side of the tunnel, darling. In the meantime, just farkin’ breathe.