I’ve always been one of those people who has believed that there’s always time for creativity, that no matter how much life throws at you you can always eke a little bit in, here or there, that as long as you schedule and try, you can reach your goals.
And now I know better.
I’m not really ready–nor am I sure I ever shall be–to talk about my current stressors, but let me say that now I understand what people mean when there’s just no more spoons left, when you physically, emotionally, mentally just have nothing left to give.
And on one hand, it’s agonizing, to have creative goals and not be able to make any headway on them, especially when I have managed to do so many times before. But on the other, I know that this happens sometimes, that it’s temporary, that life is everchanging and even if I’m only getting to write twice a week it’s still something. And it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. Sometimes this happens, and you just have to roll with it.
I am not a failure just because other things in my life have taken precedence.
And even the smallest burst of creativity feels so good now. Last week I patched some holes on the smaller, mobile one’s sock monkey (he now has matching bracelets) and it felt amazing even though it took me 15 minutes and is not the cleanest sewing job I’ve ever done.
(In related news, I cannot find my box of needles. I have a few stray needles in a pincushion that I recruited for the monkey repair, but the thought of the box of needles floating around the house somewhere, potentially where the small, mobile ones can find it, fills my heart with terror.)
(I have been looking for it for ten days now and it remains thoroughly lost.)
I’m hoping in about a month things will have cleared up and I’ll be able to redirect my energies. But we will have to see.
And that’s okay too.