how do any of us ride out this life?
there’s so much we could do
so much we do
so much i’ve done
but i constantly feel like
i’ve missed the boat on
so many things
everything
i don’t know how to get everything out of life
that i want to get out of it
so i’m just kinda
enjoying the ride at this point
admitting this isn’t how i thought it would go
but my adventures have been so
adventurous
and i do
love that
[maybe that is how you live life]
there are so many things i’d like to be doing
at all hours
of every day
writing
sewing
creating
flying
hanging out with friends
organizing my bookshelf
contemplating the mysteries of the world and the universe
and/or
just cuddling with my spouse and our animals
but i must participate
[albeit lightly]
in capitalism
and this country
[no matter how much i disagree
with so much of it
fundamentally]
and that includes having commutes
where many of my hobbies
cannot come out
and
an end of the day mind-numbing
exhaustion need that can sometimes only
be fed by silly stardew valley video games
and
a constant reminder in my head that
if i can’t make money off of a hobby
it’s not worth investing in
and
i hate that last brainwashing bit most of all
hobbies are hobbies for hobbies’ sake
i could tell you the benefits to heart and mind health
and creativity and the like
but
that gets us farther away from the point
which is that being alive
is about being alive
and sometimes we just gotta vibe
with the aliveness
that we have
and make a little shitty drawing
that makes us smile while we’re doing it
and makes a friend smile when they receive it
that’s what living is all about
[not capitalism
not capitalism
not capitalism]
trying
and trying
and trying again
and going
and running
and will there ever be a
rest?
[i mean, there just was
and i think that’s what makes this
sudden
rocket
into doing
so hard…]
they say to be a good actor
you have to live some life first
is the same true about writers?
they say “write what you know”
and if you know shelter and
safety and never worrying
and never feeling anything
won’t your writing be…
kinda beige?
but as a writer,
as an actor,
as a poet,
we feel things with the intensity of a human being
thrust into the sun a thousand times over;
we take our [possibly mundane] lives
and crank our imagination up to eleven;
we seek experiences to suck life from
and try to make art from the remnants…
is simply living life too much for an artist,
or is it exactly what the artist needs?
[or am i over-thinking everything]
[and isn’t that what creatives do, too?]
pondering
teaching
directing
improvising
trying new things
[and not too new new things]
and still
maybe
sewing
and writing
and reading
and playing
and flying
and learning
and living
everything in my life
seems to be
on delayed reaction time —
processing traumatic events/
pain responses to any injury/
excitement and anxiety responses/
processing temperature changes in my body/
even my damn tarot cards seem
a little too far away from the reading
to the event they foretold
to be anything less than
delayed
[but, i suppose, that’s just how my body/soul
plays this little life game]
so tired
so sleepy
so nervous
so alive
i’m standing at a precipice
a precipice of my own making
and i think i’m
excited
so interesting how
being in one’s 30’s feels
like settling into the person you
were before testing out all the other life things
i’m hungry for experiences
but i need only try something
once
and then i’m happy to go back
and just cuddle my kip and my cat and my dog
and organize books alphabetically
and wake up each morning
to write poetry
[i do wonder if this is the true 9-year-old me, but i also have to admit,
i still have that 9-year-old inside me, plus the 16-year-old who couldn’t
help but immediately drive to see friends the moment they got their
license, and the 22-year-old who just really wanted connection with
whomever would connect with me. i think it’s always been, not about
partying, but about connection. and i also think 9-year-old me
would agree.]
the days speed by
i get a glance
a flip of a flipbook
but the first few establishing shots
as i got the hang of it
went so much slower —
now they speed by
and i can’t tell if i’m missing a page
or a day
as the image on them
becomes something more than its individual parts
the still photos become a movie
the day to day becomes
a life
and i don’t like it
take me back to the days
when i could study each aspect
forever
and never knew what would happen
when it all flowed
freely
[uncontrollably]
