Hello. It’s been a while.
Since I crawled into my shell.
After that huge expansion that was producing and directing
“Skins I Have Worn” last October.
Much of that time was the contraction that comes after.
To be expected.
But it’s been a while. And I’ve gotten curious as to why.
Plus there’s a book of poetry that I was supposed to write.
Based on the show.
To be published in December. It’s nearly March.
So what happened? Where did the time go?
I’m looking back for a moment at all the reasons (excuses?) I had.
Good, legitimate reasons:
October / November. The show is over. I’m exhausted,
Contracting, regrouping. Taking time to reconnect with
Family and friends. Ok.
The Holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. Boxing Day?
Travel, eating, family, gifts. My husband injures himself on a
camping trip. Ok.
January – It’s winter. Everything moves inward, contemplation,
Lying fallow. Letting things percolate. Growing roots before I can
Send the plant out into the sun. Ok.
February – I get sick. I never get sick. But for days I can’t get off the couch.
Even now, I’m still not quite 100%. Ok.
But in this state of slow – I’m stripping away all but the most important things.
I’m writing page after page – asking, exploring, discovering.
And with that comes the need.
The need Now to finish the book.
Yes. Finally. In motion.
Except…. It is nearly March. I am 95% there. 95% there.
I could be 100% with just a few more hours. But I don’t.
Instead 101 distractions. TV, company, cooking, facebook, good books
To avoid 100%.
So why? Why?
This is the question many of us ask ourselves. Why can’t we just finish the frigging thing already?
I suspect there are different answers for each of us – though the base cause is probably similar.
What I discovered this morning as I was writing and walking was:
I am afraid of the ‘what’s next.’
What’s next after that insanely committed, creative and connected feeling of flow I lived for weeks at a time?
I can’t imagine what could possibly recapture the high of that experience.
I am afraid to dream what else might be possible because it couldn’t possibly compare….
That’s why I don’t finish the book.
Because then I’d have to move on. I’d have to figure out my ‘what’s next.’
As long as the book stays unfinished I can tell myself,
“I’m still working on the book. When I’m done with the book
I’ll move on.”
But I don’t finish.
Because the ‘what’s next’ is:
The fog where we fear to step
The curve we cannot see
The terrifying unknown,
But after my walk this morning what I remembered was that the “what’s next” is also:
And I won’t get to taste any of that until I can bring closure to this.
So this evening, as I write about why I don’t write….
I am making the promise, the commitment, the vow.
To finish this book.
So that I can, with sweet breath and beating heart,
Discover what is next.