This morning, I woke up feeling helpless. Not for any reason in particular. My best guess is that it stemmed from a dream I can’t fully remember. Something about an old cottage surrounded by quicksand. I was standing on the edge of its dilapidated porch, full moon, wolves howling in the distance. Beneath me, the sand was dragging the house’s foundation with it, slow pull. I yelled at the morphing landscape, holding an overflowing bag of sunflower seeds that, for whatever reason, was important to me at the time. I clutched onto the bag, which caused it to burst from the bottom and the seeds to cascade onto the ground and into the quicksand. I kept yelling, trying to will it to stop, but no matter how much I yelled, the foundation kept shifting and the sunflower seeds kept falling. I couldn’t stop it.
I was going to record this in my dream journal, as I’ve been trying to do lately, but when I looked out my bedroom window, I realized I had slept through my alarm. Not by looking at the clock, but by the angle of the sun. I wasn’t late, but by the looks of it, I probably had about five minutes to get down there before I was, if that. Coffee would have to wait. Throughout the day, the dream lingered in the back of my brain as I went through the motions. I was unable to get my mind away from that scene, but I was also unable to make anything out of it. A creative stalemate.
I’ve always said that by 30 I want three books under my belt, which is ten months away. I thought this would be a breeze during this forced break from normal life, but it’s been difficult. Hypothetically, it seems like the perfect time. But actually? It doesn’t feel right. I know what I want to write, but it’s difficult to concentrate on one thing when the world is shifting. It’s difficult to call myself a writer while I’m actually spending most of my time watching an endless loop of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia or The Fresh Prince of Belair, but it’s even more difficult to acknowledge that this might be exactly what I need. A break.
I have to pause to say this time hasn’t been terrible for me, and I feel fortunate for that. I bought a 1960s Cape Cod, well-loved and maintained by its previous owner, Kevin, who had a knack for DIY and gardening. Jason, the photographer some of you may have met on the road, is living here, too. While (as I like to say) he’s jazz and I’m blues, he’s my best friend, and I can’t picture being stuck with anyone else through this, despite our differences. I started a new job, which has been challenging me to use a different part of my brain than I’m used to. Less creative, more logic. I’ve also picked up a few steady freelance jobs, which use more creativity and less logic. A balance.
I’m still working on SteVAN (the 1979 Chevy G-20 Gerring conversion van that some of you may be familiar with). Progress has been slow, but I’m learning a lot as I work towards getting him up and running again. There have been some roadblocks, but those roadblocks have forced me to actually learn the beast I will be touring in, once it’s safe to do so again.
All of that said, I have to acknowledge that I am very fortunate to be where I am, especially now. It’s been a productive year, and I cannot discredit the fortune of luck I’ve had, as I realize many haven’t been this lucky.
It’s difficult to feel grateful right now. 2020 has been rough, as if a tornado came through and exposed all of our structural problems. These problems, they were all there before, but now they’re all front and center, sweating under the spotlight of a packed stadium. It’s a helpless feeling from the audience knowing there is no concrete thing any of us can do to make things better.
These problems are not going away, and there is nothing I can do to fix them. Instead, I have to give the wheel to others who can, and I have to watch, wait, and listen to see where I can help, if I can.
This wasn’t an easy revelation for me. Many of you know that I struggle with control issues. When there is a problem, I have to fix it. If I can’t fix it, I hyper-focus on it until it is fixed. For example, the morning of my birthday, I yelled at Jason unsolicited, “What is the point of celebrating? There are people dying everywhere and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it. What the fuck am I celebrating? Global failure?”
This is obviously not a rational reaction, but it’s difficult to be rational right now. I’m glad I had a moment of clarity that knocked me out of this negative spiraling thought-train, albeit after a two hour cry-fest curled up under my desk.
Part of this period is learning how to adjust to challenges and admit that sometimes there are situations we cannot control. This isn’t something that any of us asked for, certainly not. The most important thing we can do right now is to assess the situation in front of us and proceed in a way that’s best for all of us, knowing what we know now.
It is difficult to watch our friends, our family, and our neighbors suffer especially now, when everything is changing. It can be overwhelming to log into social media and see something new happen, something catastrophic, and not want to burn down every establishment that even partially contributed to whatever atrocity is trending each day. Add PTSD to the mix, and it can derail you for a day or two when you see something that triggers you. With social media, we are part of a global community, and as part of that global community, it’s difficult to feel helpless when very real problems are addressed and there’s little we can do about it but watch it play out.
There is a difference between reaction and action. Reaction can be reckless when we act before we know how to best proceed. Action is productive when we’ve digested the situation, we’ve listened to those who are directly affected by it, and have assessed how to move forward with intent.
For me, I don’t have experience in many of the problems sitting center stage. It’s been difficult for me to grasp that I cannot solve these problems if I have not experienced them first hand. In some instances, I will never know the full roots of the pain. I can only react to the surface I can see. This is not productive. This is not action because I do not have roots in these very real systemic problems. I can only react to how I feel, surface level.
I’ve learned to rely on those who do have these roots, and to follow their lead. I trust my friends who do have this experience, and I realize they are the only ones who will know which actions will be the most beneficial. And I’ve learned I cannot judge the actions of someone who understands these issues much deeper than I ever will. It is not their job to explain to me why their actions are sound. It’s up to me to try to better understand their perspective and these roots, even if only a little better. That is the only way to turn reaction to action, or at least to develop some sort of productive, two-way conversation. The pain they feel is real, and the only way to better understand that pain is to listen.
While I’m sure it’s clear I’m talking about everything that’s happened since George Floyd was killed, this also applies to the economic crisis, the health crisis, and everything in between. I hurt for my friends who were supposed to be on the road now. I hurt for my friends who have lost their jobs due to the pandemic. I hurt for my friends who have lost loved ones from COVID-19, or have contracted COVID-19 themselves. These pains are also incredibly real. This year has been a trial for all of us, whether we’ve been directly impacted or not, and there is not one thing any of us can do that will make it all go away. The best thing we can do is to be there for each other and to help where we can.
I’ve had difficulty putting my feelings into words because I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt for a majority of this time. It’s been a lot to digest. I was going to apologize for the eight-or-so-odd-month hiatus, but that would be disingenuous. I’m not sorry. I didn’t want to write something just to stay on schedule. I wanted to be sure I had intent behind my words, and I wanted to be sure I had something worthwhile to say. If this short essay accomplishes that, I guess you’re all of the judge on that now. I hope it has.
This break was not intentional, however. I have had things to say. I’ve written approximately seventeen different essays over the past eight months. I’ve come close to publishing a few, but at the last minute, they didn’t ring right. So many things have happened in such a short amount of time. Whenever I start to process what I feel in a particular situation, something else would happen and cast a new light on this feeling. My perspective would shift, and my essay would then feel irrelevant under that new light.
These essays have been similar to the bag of sunflower seeds in my dream. I’d grasp onto them, grasp too tight as things changed, then the bag would burst. And in retrospect, much like the sunflower seeds in my dream, they became irrelevant as soon as they sunk beneath new foundation, whether I liked it or not. We can’t get them back, no matter how hard we try. We can’t keep yelling at the shifting foundation. We have to address the fact that the foundation is shifting and proceed from there in a way that’s best for all of us, knowing that information we know now. We can’t keep yelling at what we don’t have anymore, or ignore the situation in front of us only to sink with it.
What we can do is address that our own individual problems are still valid. It isn’t selfish to take care of yourself during this time. Looking globally, the only way you can help others is if you help yourself first. There’s no way you can help anyone up if we’re scratching from the bottom of the well yourself. Looking personally, there isn’t anything one person can do individually to solve any of these problems. It would be arrogant to think any of us can solve this on our own. It would also be incredibly stressful, and I wouldn’t wish the burden of all of this on any one person.
Past that, the most important thing to do right now is to listen, and to act with intent rather than react with impulse. The only place we can do that from is a solid platform. This quicksand that is 2020 may level the house we’re standing in now, but hopefully a field of sunflowers will spring up in its place from the seeds we’ve dropped. Who knows.
Even if this doesn’t happen, we should probably focus on rebuilding on stronger ground, rather than continuing to build where we just sunk. The only way we can appreciate that is to be present, to care for ourselves, and to help our friends and neighbors out when they need it, as best we can.
It’s been a rough one, but we will make it through this. In the meantime, take care of yourself as best you can, listen to yourself, listen to others, and if you need it, ask for help. It is not weak to ask for help in the middle of an economic crisis, a health crisis, and a systemic crisis. This is not selfish to want stability for yourself, even if the rest of the world seems unstable. It is the only way we can build stronger, together.
To shift gears slightly, music. There have been so many great albums to come out during this time, and it would be foolish to pick one. Pokey LaFarge came out with a great one in April that has been on repeat, and Cat Clyde came out with a great acoustic album recently. I also urge you to look up your favorite local artists, stream the crap out of them, buy the heck out of their merchandize if you are able, send them some love, and sign every petition to ensure your local venues are able to weather this storm.
Another gear shift: This will also be the final blog post on this domain. As I begin to shift towards new projects, I’m shifting this book’s page to an all-encompassing author page. I will not get rid of content, simply a content transfer. This is not a goodbye. I will always be here, but I will be shifting some of my attention to work on a few new projects I have brewing. I will keep you updated as I do this, and I look forward to sharing some new and different stuff with all of you.
In the meantime, be well, stay well, and take care of yourselves. I hope to see you all again soon.