A sunny Saturday, and cold. I spent lots of time outside today, walking with Angus to pick up eggs and veggies from Claire, then deliver some items to Mom. I also delivered tea to friends in the neighbourhood. This afternoon, I scored an entire set of bedroom furniture from a neighbour, for CJ’s basement room. I’m still hyped up on the high of a) seeing people b) free furniture c) exercise outside.
I drew today while listening to a Tara Brach meditation, where she invited us to think lovingly, compassionately toward someone else, feeling what they feel, feeling what we could offer. The smell of baking bread is in the air, and I’ve been behind all day. Late to all my tasks, all day. (What tasks? Getting out of bed, breakfast, church, playing piano, drawing, baking bread, riding spin bike, shower, making supper … so really …).
Today, I started a two-week “tea cleanse” with my word group. I’m the de facto facilitator and have spent a lot of time thinking of how we can use these moments of pause, as a group. I hope others try my daily writing practice: “What’s on your mind?” Today, I drew out a rewrite plan for my 16th century novel after writing “What’s on your mind?” and revised a tough essay. So it (the quick-journal practice) worked for me, at least for today.
Kasia’s kundalini tonight celebrated and called forth REST — as winter calls us to slow down, reflect, eat soup, drink tea. Be warm, gentle with yourself. Such a big writing day, starting with talking Grandma, then revised a big story, with feedback from my writing group. All this energy and activity has nothing to do with rest, but I’ll need the reminder soon enough; being gentle on to myself when I’m tired is one of my greatest challenges.
Today’s cartoon is inspired by the movie “Soul.” We watched it as a family tonight, for our pizza party, after we all earned our 10 stars on our reward charts. How to live every minute? What is a spark and how is it different from a purpose? How to see this water we’re swimming in as the whole ocean? (We had root beer floats, movie snacks aka candy, a homemade pudding cake, a fruit tray, wings and garlic bread, along with the pizza. We went all out.)
Everything has been slightly ahead of me today, but I’m doing it, I’m doing it all. Decided during kundalini (going seriously overtime), that I would draw my sibs night gathering. Everyone came! On time! I’m drinking a beer, which is a novelty right now. The full moon has been my companion all day, big and bright on the horizon this morning as I rode the spin bike, and rising out my window tonight while I was doing kundalini, and now, while I write and draw and laugh with my sibs.
Tired today. It’s a Friday tired. I do insist on getting up by 6AM to ride the spin bike every week day, even when I’ve stayed up late the night before. Woke feeling — not dread, just this: apathy. The very opposite of flow, today’s word for our tea cleanse. I don’t feel capable of giving my mind over to writing, so I’ve drawn, played piano, walked Kevin’s cellphone (forgotten at home) to his office, passing all the unnervingly shuttered shops uptown, thinking “this is nuts.” But it’s the same as it’s been for some time, no worse. So it must be me, not the circumstances. This is the day when I need REST, I need to remind myself to be gentle. Sometimes the flow eddies and slows, maybe it even looks frozen, but — have patience, rest — under the surface, down deep, it’s still there, moving. Believe it.
We’re in such a trippy time warp here in continuing lockdown (with cases heading in the right direction again, so there’s hope). But there’s always hope! And I’m noticing that hope comes in the form of a small change or surprise or pleasure that can be found, really, in any day. Even the dullest of days.
For example: supper! It happens every single day, but we all look forward to it. I currently have the time to put more thought and preparation into the evening meal, and it is worth it. We gather, talk, eat good food. It’s simple, it’s satisfying.
Another example: snow falling from the sky!
And: the days getting incrementally longer. It’s 5:19PM as I type this and it’s still light out!
Also: group activities!
With my word group, I’m doing a 2-week tea-cleanse, in which we brew and sip teas throughout the day, and connect with our words and with each other via email, and maybe, too, via psychic powers.
With my family, we are doing reward charts! Who knew? It began when I offered to print up a chart for our youngest, who needed encouragement to practice more often (online school is sapping his motivation). As soon as people spotted his reward chart, it quickly spiralled. Now everyone has one (mostly with the goal of practicing a musical instrument every day, although Kevin gets a pass—he’s drawing instead). When everyone earns 10 stars, we get a pizza party! Individuals can earn a separate reward for every 25 stars. The rules and rewards were discussed and agreed upon and planned for at some length; and tonight is the night: Pizza Party! Whoo-hoo! We even had a sign-up sheet so people could bring something extra (like a fruit tray, or Scotch mints, or a cake). We’re planning to watch a movie too (“Soul”). [Update: What a wonderful movie to share as a family; laughter, music, and the exploration of big existential questions. You should watch it too!]
Finally, on the group activity front, I’m connecting virtually as much as possible through yoga classes on Zoom, texts with friends and family, Zoom calls with my Grandma, and writing time with imaginary characters (that counts too, right?). Today I tried a midday movement class out of New York city that, frankly, seemed to be inviting me nap for an hour on my heated studio floor while making fractional movements with my arms and legs. So maybe that was a one-time thing. But I tried it!
Explore: that’s what’s giving me hope, and purpose, and spark right now. Try it, sign up, reach out, say yes to something different and new, even if it’s just challenging yourself to cook a meal with the weird passed-over ingredients haunting your cupboards (my supper plan for Thursday!).
I’d love to hear what’s giving you hope, in small surprising ways, right now.
Everyone looked after me all day. My favourite part was going around the table and hearing what everyone considered to be the thing they were most proud of in 2020. (Mine was painting my door yellow, and transforming my office into my studio.)
I’m glued to Murdoch Mysteries, a Canadian show on Netflix that thankfully has about a thousand episodes (give or take). When I learned there were many seasons yet to watch, I ran out of my studio hollering: “Winter is saved!”
Kevin’s new year’s eve bonfire kept burning out last night. “I smell like smoke,” I told Heather on our starting-the-new-year-off-right walk. We came upon a statue that was like a horror movie, a man’s face replaced with an owl and maybe a possum (?); squirrel and duck for hands. We laughed so much.
We drove to Claire’s farm to pick up eggs and meat, and Claire showed us the pigs in the barn. Back home, we started a new 30-day yoga cycle with Adriene, called “Breath.”
Strange what my pen and hand tell me—not always what I want to hear. Mostly, I walked with my family this morning, on a spontaneous walk through fresh snow. But this was how I felt, trying to reach across the barriers of self/other.
Welcome to my studio. I enter this small warm room, close the yellow door, and feel—welcomed in. Happy to be here, at this desk, to look out these windows, to feel excited, wondering what I’ll find today?
I’m trying to read a book before falling asleep, rather than scrolling the news on my phone. My theory is that my dreams will be better, more interesting. But last night, the children in this book found a dead dog and my sleep was restless; tired today. (Soundtrack on repeat: “Exile” T. Swift and B. Iver)
It’s a lot to ask, that stories drop into my hands from their perfect mutability in my mind. I ask for grace and energy, I ask for a stronger work ethic, I ask for magic; but it’s desire I need, to answer longing with scratches on the page.
Yesterday, as Trump’s followers over-ran Congress, I was doing that terrible thing where I was watching a livestream on my laptop, scrolling my phone, and texting people, as if by consuming too much information, I’d find an answer to the question—what is going to happen?
I promised myself I’d sit down and draw even if I felt completely empty. That would capture the day too—an empty page, some pen scratches and scribbles.
My drawings this week all kind of look the same, I told Kevin on our after-dinner walk with Rose. Not much is changing. We are in liminal space—waiting. Not transition, but waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Today I made a list of things I want to do every day: go for a walk, the longer the better; burn and create energy with intense cardio; yoga; cartoon; play piano; afternoon tea break. I’d also like to meditate and read; and of course write. And cook. (But not clean.)
Good news: started my day in my studio and wrote part of a story almost immediately! Not-bad news: I can’t draw cars. This one looks like a bus, sort of. Above: me and Nina going for a walk, early Monday morning tradition.
Panic attack reading news of a stay-at-home order starting Thursday in Ontario. Felt like I was drowning. But what changes, I asked? Put on headphones and draw—follow pen into memory, shape, imagination. You’ve got resources. Sources.
Sidewalks slick with ice, we walked, skated, slipped, slid on a short dog walk after supper. Waiting for us to pass was a fox in the little park across the street. It sat perfectly still, alert, focused on our presence, till we were gone.
And now we’re all caught up. What do you think of my new journaling method? I’m on month two, and I’ve noticed a growing interest in attempting to draw background and setting, as well as figures. I’ve noticed, too, that this exercise slows me down and changes the flow of my attention, no matter what I’m feeling.
It’s a new year, and here we are. Oddly, I’ve chosen to anchor this post with a photo taken on a drive to the country, though I’m so rarely inside a car these days that it’s hardly representative. Mostly, I’m inside my studio, inside my house, looking out my window.
Today is sunny. I should really go outside for a walk, though the blue shadows are already long, even at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. We live in a northern country. The seasons tell us what to wear, how to be. January has often been a month of contemplative reflection for me. But I’m not sure I can take more contemplative reflection than I’ve already got on the go. I live too much inside my head already. Inside this house. Inside these studio walls.
Go outside, Carrie! Soak up some sunshine!
Do not go back to sleep
You must ask for what you really want
Do not go back to sleep
How can I ask for what I want when I don’t know what that is?
Have you ever asked yourself what you really want? I find it is an impossible question to answer. I’ve sat here looking out the window at cars and people and dogs passing by, and I just can’t think what it is that I really want. The answer could be so very small, or so very big. I might want a cup of tea, for example; or I might want moral authority. (Is that even something a person can want or aspire to?)
Or maybe I want something that I don’t even know that I want. Maybe I want to be surprised. The thought of being surprised brings forth significant anxiety, I realize, typing those words; and yet, I think I do in some way want to be surprised—preferably happily surprised. It seems to be an element lacking in this current arrangement of life under lockdown. As a creature of habit, I’m mostly quite content following my daily routines, which are healthy and nourishing, and yet, and yet—
I want a little more energy and determination. I want to laugh with a friend.
I want to go outside and partake of this brisk, bracing season.
PS There’s more to that poem, in the translation that’s on my bookshelf:
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
- What felt good this month? I’m writing this on the last day of this month, which is the last day of this year, and a long winter waits ahead. This month, the advent calendar activities kept me going, surprising and fun; it made every day a little bit special and that was the kids’ doing: their creative suggestions powered the joy of the advent calendar (mine were terrible! dull, pedestrian, I would never have thought up surprise ice-cream outings or wearing someone else’s clothes for a day!). We also ate some very good food; and I wasn’t the only one to cook it! Angus cooks for us once a week, and he made my birthday dinner (three-cheese lasagna with roasted veggies). My siblings and parents also made and shared food with each other to celebrate Christmas. I loved sharing stories with writing friends this month too.
- What did you struggle with? Mostly I’d accepted in advance how different this holiday would be, and that helped. But I felt unexpectedly blue on Christmas Eve, missing our family’s rituals. I missed silly things, like straining for the high notes while singing Christmas carols with my siblings, or watching my mom open gifts, which wasn’t quite the same on Zoom. I missed serving a big turkey dinner to a very full table (I mean, our table was still pretty full, since I live with five other people, but you know what I mean).
- Where are you now compared to the beginning of the month? The same. I think? I’m feeling a bit apprehensive about the next couple of months, hoping we can keep our boat afloat here, and stay hopeful and optimistic and healthy, mentally and physically, and not go stir crazy. I usually enjoy January — the quiet after the holiday storm — but there’s been a lot of quiet already. In any case, I’m giving myself a break, a holiday, right now. I know our routines and healthy habits will return to us soon enough. For today, I’ll enjoy some sloth and debauchery (on a small scale).
- How did you take care of yourself? Daily drawing and colouring. Getting outside every day. Spin and yoga. Not too much caffeine. Afternoon cup of tea. Reaching out to friends. Finding things to look forward to, including planning to sponsor another refugee family with a neighbourhood group, hopefully in the not-too-distant future. Adding new songs to my playlists, listening to artists that are new to me (Freddie Gibbs; SAULT; Open Mike Eagle; Jay Electronica; Rina Sawayama; Bleachers…). Reading fiction. Doing crosswords and word games.
- What would you most like to remember? That I can have fun, be fun. That even when I’m feeling down or discouraged about being a writer, some part of me is still excited about the stories I’m discovering, and the characters I’m getting to know.
- What do you need to let go of? Getting things right. I like the cartoon project because there’s always something wrong with it, the caption is worded awkwardly, or I’ve drawn the perspective all wonky — and that reminds me that my purpose in life isn’t to be perfect, but to dive in and get messy and do what I’m here to do, whatever that may be: whether or not I signed up for it, whether it makes sense or not, and even if I couldn’t possibly explain its value, or argue for its importance. It isn’t up to me to know what will matter or be meaningful. It’s up to me to be kind, sensible, attentive, alive to the world around me, and to witness and respond. Also, to love the flaws.
It is the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, and my hair smells like bonfire smoke. I sat outside on the frozen ground from 4:30 – 7:30AM and watched the sky turn from dark to dim to pale grey dawn. Through my head came visions of friends, and the gratitude and love I’ve felt pouring into me and out of me all through these many months of pandemic otherworldliness, a circle of holding and care that has kept me not just afloat but enriched and comforted and stronger.
There are many ways to stay in touch, even from a distance. This year, I’ve quit Twitter and don’t seem to blog quite so often (perhaps you are surprised when a post drops into your email inbox). I rarely post to Facebook, more often check in on Instagram. Then, there are texts and emails. Occasionally a phone call (usually that’s my mom or dad). Even letters, cards, postcards (such a treat to receive!) And, of course, Zoom calls: sibs night, kundalini yoga, church.
There are walks with a friend, or a kid, or a dog, or the whole family.
Dec. 16, Family walk with dog, spontaneous snow angels
We meet outside, to meet in person. We learn the weather, we greet the seasons, the changing light, we pay attention.
Dec. 20, Family drinks in the back yard shack
All month, I’ve been drawing a daily portrait and writing a short caption, to capture a scene or moment from each day. I’ve noticed that my portraits most often depict me with others, not alone. Or, if I am alone, I’m thinking of someone else when I write the caption. This year of being apart has actually been a year of coming closer together, in some ways. In others ways, no — I no longer coach a team of lively teenaged girls, and I miss those casual and funny interactions. But I’ve grown closer with my own kids. There are friendships that have deepened.
Dec. 12, kundalini class on Zoom, in my studio
I’m closer to the ground. And my spirit is closer to the sky.
Enjoy the darkness, friends. Light a candle, and send out an I love you to someone you’ve been meaning to say that to. The days are short, but won’t always be so.
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