baby cheetahs

the audacity of resting when you're on the run

It’s 4:30am. I’ve been procrastinating - not sure if that’s an accurate description - but basically getting warmed up here while in a state of extreme lack of inspiration. I wrote my morning pages, read a bit of Rick Rubin’s book The Creative Act, made some tea, snuggled the cat and literally the moment I opened the laptop and wrote my first sentence my daughter walked out of the bedroom holding her large black puppy stuffie, looking wide eyed and terrified because she knows, by the extreme eyebrow raise and tone of my voice “it’s way too early babe” she should not be awake. First sentence written. And bam. Here she is. The universe laughs - you thought you had two hours hahahaha, your peace and quiet “moment that is only yours” can get taken at ANY MOMENT.

I erased the first sentence, got her a drink of water, and now I'm back. Sort of, because now I know she’s awake and it’s not the same. Now I won’t write about my dear friend Natalie in the desert. Now I must write about all the various ways we get interrupted.

Here’s the thing: creating as a parent or caretaker is like being in a constant state of fight or flight (which is ironic because I’ve been attempting very deliberately to lower my cortisol levels). You think you’re safe but the “cheetah” (your small child) could pounce on you and eat your “insert whatever you’re trying to make” at any moment. So you’re constantly looking around wondering; “What was that noise in the bushes?! Should I start running? Quick, take the laptop to the minivan and finish your thought for goodness sake (not joking here).”

I feel like I talk about this a lot and if you’re tired of hearing about it I do sincerely apologize. Perhaps you don’t have children and so you’re thinking “uh huh, got it…kid’s make stuff hard.” But in my defense even if you do not have small humans in your home I know you can relate to the very special misery that is you trying to carve out time for yourself, to make, whatever it is you’re trying to make, and finding yourself thwarted at regular intervals; small humans, leaky sinks, noisy neighbors, the fact that you’re hungry all the time and need to go make something to eat right this very now…the list of possible interruptions is infinite. So stay with me here…

It was just last night as I lay in bed after a really really long weekend RV camping (it was fun but man it’s a lot of work) that I realized I wasn’t going to be able to write like I had planned. Staying up late and writing anything remotely entertaining, useful or meaningful wasn’t actually a possibility. And then I remembered something Amelia Hruby mentioned in her welcome email about the timing of the emails she sends out. Something like she sends them out two OR three times a month depending….and I thought excuse me what? Depending? You get to decide? You get to decide if you want to? And when? I should go find the email but if you want to read it you should sign up for her emails here they’re lovely. 

But remembering this made me want to cry as I lay there with a sense of panic that I wasn’t going to be able to keep to “my schedule.” This idea of Amelia’s that you get to have grace and love and autonomy over your experience, your pace, over what you’re producing and remember that producing isn’t even the point. Our big ole capitalist culture wants you to think you have to have a shiny perfect product every Tuesday at noon – but you can remember that you’re doing it for YOU first, so it should feel right and good and true TO YOU. Whatever it is you’re doing (insert here your thing).

This is hard for me. Even with “the slow down” being at the core of what I know to be productive for myself. Paying attention and going slow is the way into anything personal and / or sacred for me. And yet, I feel like if I loosen up it’ll all slip away. I want to hold tightly to the practice of it or I’ll lose my nerve and so I cling to a bit of vigilance. I hold fast to the act of showing up (even when I don’t feel ready) because I know, with it being so tricky (ya know with all the Cheetahs lurking about), that if I wait for it to feel right I won’t show up at all. I’ll hide in the jeep where it’s safe. 

Both are true I think. I think you have to have grace for yourself and gentleness around the moments when you are laying in the dark ready to cry; for me after just having put your three year old to bed, then saddled up to your eight year old to read three chapters about a witch named Grizelda, after a long weekend holding space in a clinking clanking RV and realizing it’s 9:30 pm and you’ve got nothing left. There’s a truth there. We all have our moments like these. And if we’re gentle with it then the truth might just be wrapped up with love and appreciation instead of resentment. But I dance back and forth between those two like I’m walking across hot coals. The practice of showing up on the regular works…until you need to rest. The act of stepping back and noticing where you are and honoring that place is radical because it turns it’s back on the idea that there is anything actually pressing at all. There is no timeline. There is no rush. There is only meeting ourselves with kindness because the alternative is judgment and judgment kills the hope to make anything beautiful (even a sandwich really) every time. 

May we all move forward into our week with more kindness for ourselves and where we are truly at; not where we think we should be. Let’s write it down for others or for ourselves secretly in a small quiet place. Write down all the things we don’t know, the many questions, describe fully the lost places, the moments of wondering. Talk about the tears that dare to come, even when we feel so lucky and yet so stuck. Let’s remember to take it slow, to love, to dare to rest even when there are cheetahs waiting in the bushes.