It’s been a while since I posted anything. I’ve been neglecting my art: writing, in favor of other exciting things that have been happening for me; my boyfriend and I are moving in together!
So, naturally, every ounce of my free time has been filled with the logistics that accompany such a feat.
Who’s stuff do we keep? How much do we move versus how much do we leave for the professionals? Can I please, please, put contact paper in your 1980s style wooden cabinets?
And oh, by the way, where are my nine plants going to go? They all have names, you know…
It’s wonderful, but exhausting for sure.
The struggle is that there hasn’t been any time to do anything for me. All of my usual self-care practices such as cooking healthy meals, watching a movie with tea and chocolate at the ready, and especially writing have totally gone out the window.
And I’m feeling it. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. The works.
When I don’t take care of my needs, I find myself doing a multitude of unpleasant things. First, I cry randomly. Second, I have absolutely zero energy in general. And third, I get irritated at everyone and everything. It’s no fun being inside my head when I’m in one of those moods. It’s certainly no fun for anyone on the receiving end.
Usually, when I go on a self-care hiatus, I don’t realize what I’ve done until I’m experiencing one or all of these things.
So, last night, I sat down to write in my journal. I didn’t feel like I had anything in particular to say. I just sort of detailed what’s going on for me. It didn’t feel particularly significant. I almost wondered, after the fact, if there had been any point to it at all. Surely I could have unpacked another box in that time…
But this morning…boy, did I feel it. That journaling opened up a floodgate of words that came rushing out of me. I had to take a short break from work just to get them all out before I burst at the seams.
And then, a curious thing occurred at work this afternoon. I felt hopeful.
Hope is not something I feel at work very often. I know that sounds quite depressing, but it’s…sort of true. I go to work, day in and day out, do a good job, as best as I’m able, and I go home. I’m ok with that. I’m managing.
But on the days when I write, I feel an additional, special kind of meaning and purpose to my life. Something only pure, unfiltered creativity can give me. Something to get me through the day.
I couldn’t wait until the end of my workday today so that I could get home and write again!
This is why it’s so critical to keep doing your art. No matter how busy you are, or how exhausted, or stressed, you have to keep doing it. It’s not a matter of choice. It is a necessity.
Your art will give you hope. That hope will give you that extra boost you need to survive your day at the office. And if you’re able to survive the office, you’ll get home and you won’t feel quite so drained, and that means you’ll be able to pursue your art even more!
It’s a positive feedback loop that we all need to take advantage of more often.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go convince my boyfriend that dish drainers aren’t tacky… 😉
When I write, I feel more meaning, hope, happiness, and resilience throughout my day.
What do you find when you honor your art?
What other things in your life give you meaning, purpose, and joy?