I know I’m not alone in my trippy-dippy relationship with time this past year. Days flow one into the other, a weekend indecipherable from a weekday. It’s April, no June, January?!—it’s all the same as we want to fast forward to better times and yet are stuck on groundhog day.
It’s truthfully not that bad for me. Mentally, I have a Type-A personality, prone to focusing on rules and ways. Physically, I’ve been lucky enough to largely stick to alternating morning walks, which gives me a regular rhythm and endorphin rush first thing in the morning (if it’s ‘my’ morning to walk, I have a valid escape. If it’s Andrew’s morning, I get to indulge in staying in pajamas and listening to the radio).
I’ve also been lucky to have regular work, with Parker regularly in school. This gives the rest of each weekday shape and purpose and helps weekends feel, well, if not special, at least off-duty.
But there’s still the mental task of turning off my responsibility mode. Of shrugging off my routines, tuning out what’s expected, and letting my creativity flow. Of becoming unstuck.
I’m really good at getting shit done. Answering briefs, meeting deadlines, engaging with teachers and neighbors and communities. I can clean and organize like nobody’s business. Play Barbies and color for hours. Do errands and keep house. Though there’s some pleasure and satisfaction, these are not all the things I want to be filling my days with, but they are to some degree expected of me, and I do them well, and so I do them.
But this year, I want to tap into my imagination more. To surf my unconscious and find that elusive flow. I want to sink into a project that makes my heart beat faster and my pupils dilate. I want to create and feel fulfilled and proud.
This is my intention, and I’m saying it out loud.
