It is hard to believe that I went all of August and September without writing you. I never give excuses for why I don’t send out a newsletter, though. I just say Hey, been awhile and we move forward. If I had to blame anything it would almost certainly be the difficulty I have perceiving time as it passes. I can blame my ADHD for this, I guess.
Beyond that, I guess there is a lot to say about these last two months because it has been a long stretch full of change, of growth, of transformation. Expansion. Discovery.
Though there is much to say I will not say it all because I couldn’t possibly. Also, there is much I’d like to keep to myself despite that not usually being my style. I am experimenting with this idea that when I tell others about something that has happened, or has been said, maybe… it makes that thing less magical. However, I have always enjoyed sharing. I like to gush. Whatever the case may be, and for whatever reasons, I must keep some things to myself. But I will share this:
In the last two months I have hosted two separate poetry events. Both held at the same location in Philadelphia, a place I have loved co-operating with my best friends, a place I have met many new people, a place I have learned from. A place that is shutting its doors on Friday permanently. My readings which grew out of my own vision, grew organically from #1 to #2 and that is something I am celebrating here, with you. I never imagined I’d be cultivating a container for poetry (or art in general) but I am. I am welcoming folks once a month to gather and read vulnerable words to a room full of strangers (sometimes) and that is a blessing to see unfold. Though our venue is shifting, I am adapting and moving the location and I am more confident than ever that I am on the brink of crafting something wonderful and soft and warm for anyone and everyone.
This week I will be discharged from physical therapy. When I got hurt four months ago, I could not see a light at the end of the tunnel — at all. I was in such a good place mentally and physically, and that is the only reason I wasn’t completely broken by a debilitating injury. It may have taken me out of the physical activities I loved, but it was also the catalyst that got me writing music. Now that I’ve traversed the path toward recovery and worked so hard in PT, I can say that I’m scared to move forward. I am scared to fall. However, when I look at the last four months and how my body has bounced back and healed, I find it remarkable, and I know that fear cannot be a deciding factor in my life. It can always be overcome. I am proud of myself for recognizing this.
I am biking again. I finally bought a helmet. Soon I will purchase my own bike, I think. I am climbing again. I am moving my body and trying to get back to a yoga class. I am scared, but I am grateful every day.
I am feeling an overwhelming urge to hibernate. Get small, get quiet, get soft. Reduce the noise of life. Sign out of social media. I want to be warm, to be held, to be present. I am working to cultivate this for myself. I am certain it has to do with the changing of the seasons, as my body feels it. Though I believe there’s another thing to it — the season of my life is changing as well.
I am seeking more authentic presence. With myself, with others, I wish for this to saturate my life. I want to allow myself to take one task at a time, in sincerity. To not worry so much. This is proving very difficult, but in a body that is becoming increasingly wracked with panic attacks at the sheer shock of overwhelm, I am trying. And when I fail, I am trying again.
As my symptoms of ADHD have become more pronounced, life has gotten harder in many ways. I am seeking support through the proper avenues, but I am also working hard to implement systems that may work for me. Eating is difficult. Keeping track of time is difficult. Managing my home while staying on top of my job and all the rest of the world is difficult. I am just one person. But what I haven’t yet come home to is that I do not have to do everything, everywhere, all at once. That’s who I used to be, but that is not who I am anymore. I can’t think about that right now though. This is me being honest.
While I can admit that I exist in a daily battle with overwhelm, I have implemented a morning ritual that has not yet faltered, and for that I am proud. Ironically, it takes place on Instagram — the bane of my existence. However, the effect stands. I start my days by posting a photo of myself in my bathroom mirror, captioned with this morning I am thinking of. I don’t always show up with ideas. More often I take the photo, and then take a seat by the window and give myself a few minutes of reflection. I list everything but keep it short — frustrations, desires, contemplations, things people both can and cannot relate to. Examples include:
the song that goes ‘this kiss / this kiss’
hibernation
moving because living alone is hard
the peach crisp in my oven
how lucky I feel to be moving my body again
the duality of man: is it about gas station hotdogs or love/war?
going on a date
there aren’t enough hours in the day
staying open to miracles
these hiccups that won’t go away
Reception for this is great. People love them, look forward to them even. I love them, too. It brings me so much joy and grounds me into my day. I’d like to continue it for as long as I can.
I have started a book club with one of my very best friends. She is someone who has watched me through many phases of my life and still sticks around. This makes me believe that I am redeemable. We are reading Make Miracles in Forty Days by Melody Beattie. I am ready for a miracle, I think.
I am communing with myself again. That is to say, I am certainly trying. She is beautiful. She is strong. She is learning. She has good intentions. She knows what it is to overexert but she continues to do it especially when it means others are happy. She is so so so loved.
In a few days I will celebrate two years since I moved to Philadelphia. Celebrate is the wrong word. You will hear from me about this soon.
Until next time,
A