I’ve been writing here for over two years now about poetic techniques—how to collect hypnagogia, creative approaches to editing a poem, one method of writing poetry about trauma, and various & sundry other poemy things.
Today I tried to write about the creativity of rest, but I’m pretty sure that instead I’ve really just written: Who else is tired AF? OMFG. Maybe you’ll find it helpful anyway.
The Situation
I’m tired.
As a multidisciplinary artist, I have had periods in my life when I was involved in a bazillion big projects across media—music, performance, writing, research, drawing, animation, videos, podcasting.
It sounds impressive, but it was exhausting and dangerous—I fell down very dark pits. I survived, but eventually something had to give. In 2018 I resolved to narrow my scope. I cut out every creative and professional venture except those that centred around the written word. I needed rest. I wanted focus.
Happily, far from limiting me, that decision opened up my space and capacity. I was able to conceive of and write my first full-length book, and a chapbook. I led a wonderful community poetry workshop in Vermont for 3 years. I applied for and received a grant to write my second book.
I had to retire, in a manner of speaking, from visual art and music and performance, so I could have that rest and focus. It was worth it.
Now I’m tired again. And once again, I need to figure out what steps to take.
The Hustle
Like so many people, it’s hard for me to scrounge together more money than what’s required to cover basic needs. I want to save up for a house, to cover emergencies, to save for retirement. Yet what’s apparently required to do this makes me feel physically ill.
Should I be an SEO-manipulating, deal-offering, multiple-social-media-platform-haunting, jaunty + pretty face offering shareable sound bytes and jokes and engaging with innumerable comments (or, alternatively, the horrors of zero engagement)?
Or should I get an inevitably low-paying copywriter or editor day job and try to do that on top of my freelance editing, working overtime in order to save up? Exhausting, but still allows me to keep my private life and not have to actively sell my voice, my face, or rapidly produce “content.” (Also: these types of jobs are hard to get. Still working on that.)
Or should I throw in the towel and get another miserable secretary job? This time try to get a higher-up one, helping some executive CEO book meeting to sell sprockets?
These decisions hang over me, and maybe it’ll be a combo between them, or maybe the future holds something different… I’ve started studying for the law school entrance exam.
Rest
But right now, today, this afternoon, this week, when I’m not working, I’m leaning into rest:
Staying in my robe. Saying no to requests. Laying in bed listening to music from past decades that I never got around to trying out. Listening to an episode of Ologies about how near-death experiences often bring people a lifelong inner calm. Clutching the powerful comfort blanket that is Tricia Hersey’s Nap Ministry. Binge-reading YA novels by the incredible Cherie Dimaline. Googling tattoo ideas. Going to bed early.
I’ve paused all my live Zoom poetry workshops and any efforts to monetize my teaching. I’m trusting that by giving myself this space and time, this break from the hustle, something will emerge. I’ll focus more, or I’ll see an opportunity I would have otherwise missed. Or maybe I’ll just feel a little better.
Negative Space
I’ve touched on the concept of negative space in poetry several times in the past. Textless areas of white space on the page, omissions, and unfinished statements can all serve to enhance a poem’s effects, and offer the reader time to process the poem’s messages.
In daily life, maybe the analog to negative space is rest. Maybe by hanging out for a while in an area of omission, incompletion, and lack of “productivity,” I will enhance the strange poem that is my life.
So, how are you?
Seriously. Tired? Invigorated? A mysterious third thing? Feel free to share via a comment below or by reaching out.
yrs truly,
Elisabeth
Hi Elisabeth, I appreciate the honesty of your last post, and I have been meaning to write back to you. Everything that you said resonates with me. I recently retired from the practice of law and am about to retire from being a Scholar at Brandeis University and still seem to five myself exhausted much of the time between writing and art. Then I cut back on art and still.... On one hand its great to have so many interests and curiosities, and on the other hand excitement and exhaustion seem to be bedmates. I recently realized (or maybe accepted is a better word, because I have sort of known it for some time) that I am synesthesic (e.g. get a tactile "echo" when I see or listen to things, physically feel what others are doing or receiving, etc.) and hyperphantasic (e.g. have an elaborate imagination and can animate it or parts of it)-- which probably is true for lots of creative people, especially those drawn to multiple fields. I think that is one reason I get so exhausted, but I am still learning how to integerate it into my life rather than trying to ignore it. BTW-- going to law school and being a lawyer was a wonderful thing for me in that it made me understand how the constructed world worked, but there's a lot of stress and conflict there and the field has changed a lot in the last twenty years. If you ever want to talk about that, I'm happy to do so. nbballard@comcast.net
Hi Connor - thank you for this thoughtful and open sharing... I hope your Monday is going better than feared/trepidated. It's such a strange thing to have sleep be so hard to get, exhaustion so hard to stanch. It makes me think of how back in earlier and mid-century decades, all the modern conveniences of technology were seen as opening up a world of less exhaustion, less work, more time. And somehow we just filled in all that freed-up time.
Yes, when you say "well, I've been able to remain a creative and productive person in spite of these obstacles" it echoes a gentle reprimand I've often heard from another close friend who, whenever I lament the unfinished projects and talk about my fear of dying, always counters with pointing out how much I HAVE accomplished, and how much I have finished, and how much I've experienced. It is always sobering and good to flip the focus from what I haven't done to what I have.
So yes, writing one thing is always a victory. I've been recently practicing this in all aspects of my life, in all the ways I want to better myself. Instead of setting unattainable and harsh guidelines or goals, I'm gently nudging myself each day to do something (a variety of things) with just a little bit more self-compassion or awareness. It feels good to watch my tiny, teeny, gentle progress.