This creator, ain’t creating

The world stopped, and so did that section of my soul that has to throw itself into written words.

The writing. The poems. The scribbles in the notebook.

(Ok, a few words written at the screen in panic/devastation/frustration.
So much so, I forgot I even wrote them. But that was it.)

It all just froze up, like a paralyzed limb with no say. No opinion for weeks, months even. Could barely muster words for general communication: work, life, people. Creativity has been nothing more than cracks on the wall, no light coming through. Not even the energy to peel the layers back and see what’s there. It truly has felt like absolutely nothing was on the other side.

But, something is changing. It’s been strange, because in this time of deep personal closure–my cocktail work has come to life again. I mean, it makes sense because — <<<drinking during COVID>>>. It’s a thing to do. I have been shocked at how zoom cocktail classes and workshops have taken off, and the new date night / girl’s night is huddled around a computer, shaking up a cocktail and learning. It’s bizarre, and….cool? But it has re-energized a creative part of me that I have been trying to leave behind for a while, showing me that the cocktail world (people, mostly) is still a place I enjoy being and an outlet for ‘making’, when my other creative lifelines have seemed dead. I miss being around makers.

That being said, the personal pressure I place on myself–to write FOR MYSELF–is enormous.

But all the well known spaces feel foreign to me now.

This space doesn’t feel right anymore.
And, the cocktail space doesn’t allow for all of the creativity I have; it’s just too specific.

So what do I do?

A new web address won’t change it. A new handle. I new logo. None of that seems to matter at all.

Then today, even as I was writing this, a Medium article popped up about writing routines. And ooops, guess who doesn’t have one anymore? This girl. I thought when I changed roles at work and took on a less writing intensive job, I would write more for myself. That hasn’t been the case.

Also, it is entirely true that my role began exactly when COVID started. So who knows which had more of an affect on my writing paralysis. ??? Additionally, it should be noted, that it seems like even the most prolific of writers who I admire have also experienced a downsizing in their writing during this fucking weird time. I know I am not alone, and that feels….better? But aren’t we all just aching to create something out of this? Yes.

Today, I started back up with my planner/journal. This had become a very important ritual for me and the second we all got sent home, it seemed flat out stupid. But here we are, months into COVID, Black Lives Matter, quarantine, earthquakes, and homeschooling–with all of my favorite connecting points on hold, namely seeing live music and enjoying a shit ton of amazing food/drink with people I love. But. Buttttt.

It’s time too stop whining and get the hell back to work. If there is anything that this period of time has taught me it is this: Sure, slowing down is great (when it is YOUR choice, and I really wanted to control that too), but this wasn’t anyone’s choice. We can cry and scream and be angry — but at some point, we have to fucking get back to work. We have to keep creating and we have to keep finding joy.

That’s what I am going to try to focus on now.

I have so much I want to say. I feel like I have lived one hundred lives since March, as I am sure we all do. I want to connect with everyone and disconnect all at once. I want to reach out, reach in and try to make meaning. We ALL have to make meaning out of this. You have to make meaning out of this. I have to make meaning out of this. I have to find the energy to claw past the surface of fear and hurt and ‘I didn’t sign up for this’ and write it.

Meaning will come.

And if it doesn’t, at least I wrote it.


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