Watered down and weary

This is probably going to seem like a trumpet-blowy, tiny violin-whining kind of a post. And I am allowing myself this with the hope that to get it out there might be the next step to doing something differently. 

I have recognised for a long time something that it difficult to admit to others:

I am pretty good at a lot of things.

Most things I try, I seem to be able to just do to some decent standard. Programme facilitation, for example. Feedback of ‘you’re already far ahead of where you should be at this stage and where I was when I was one’, is common, and this for someone socially/generally anxious who believed she could never have a job that involved leading/facilitating/group work in any way.

Poetry is another. Apparently I have ‘a poet’s instinct’. 

That has all been pretty great. It has meant that I’ve felt somewhat good about myself, with self-worth being based of course on how well one performs something. And it has meant I have felt fairly confident to use my privileged position to give a variety of things a go. All fun and life-affirming and lovely. 

But excelling at anything?

I don’t believe I’ve ever excelled at anything. 

And I think I would like to. 

I think I could have a good crack at many things, and how nice to have the privilege to be able to dabble. And I am genuinely interested in having a variety of experiences, even things that scare me. 

But I worry that, with time and energy being limiting factors, I am watering myself down a bit trying to have a bit of so many things. 

For a while I have been pendulum swinging between two states: 

1. Healthy, outdoorsy, routine and scheduled, exercising regularly, healthy diet and amply sleepy Fee, clean and trimmed, and ready for the day (but very little writing or painting going on), reinforced by feeling good and comments of ‘you’re looking SO well!;

2. Some kind creative goblin mode, where exercising, showering, eating well all get in the way of that creative flow state. Getting to work? Sure, but I’ll just scrape my hair up and get to it. 

I suppose I imagine getting to the idyllic place of sitting neatly and brightly by a window, writing away, before having a walk and healthy lunch, then taking myself off to work for the afternoon and an evening session of group facilitation, all the while feeling clean and tidy and healthy and ready. 

The reality for my creative mode: Sitting on the sofa, in clothes washed goodness-knows how long ago, hair unkempt and hunched posture, alarm set to remind myself when it’s time to scrape my hair up for work. In that mode I am often getting somewhere, I recognise that. The flow is there and writing is happening. I don’t want to break the flow by using time to go for some exercise and prep/eat a healthy lunch! If I focus my before-work time on exercise, I feel great! But I don’t have time to write. 

Everything becomes a bit stop-start; a week of mode 1 followed by a week of mode 2. Perhaps this can be ok? But if I split like this, am I just keeping myself watered down? What about all the excelling I want to do?

Something else I’m afraid might be creeping in: perimenopause. What’s with the needing 10 hours sleep and still feeling tired? Is this to make up for all the sleep I lost raising all the kids I didn’t have?

Oh, and there’s that problem of dying one day, of my parents whom I love beyond anything, dying one day and wanting to spend as much time with them as possible; being a good friend and wife and aunt. 

In short, I am recognising I need to get more intentional with my time as doors are only going to keep closing, and one day I’m afraid I will find myself in a cupboard with lots of equipment and nothing to do with it. No more double-fronted desires and doubts. Right now I’m seeing blinds slanting the light and strips of light I can still choose from, which is good as I can still see, still make a start. I can move the blinds myself to block out truly unneccesary drains on my energy, like worrying about what others think of me and feeling responsible for how they are, keeping myself leashed even if I’m not ok, just so THEY are ok. (Oh shit, something I HAVE excelled at!). And social media. 

But those strips of light are only going to get narrower until it’s completely dark.  

I’m very aware that my predicament is a very natural one, and a nice one in a world where there are people trapped under rubble following an earthquake. 

I’m just trying to have it all. And I can keep trying to, or make a decision and close a few doors. 

Or am I just scared and not wanting to put all my eggs in one basket?

Crap … after writing all this, that’s the thing that seems to click and make most sense…

So now I have to make a decision and be brave about it?

Well, I’m glad we did this.

I’m enjoying painting at the moment. I have a couple of gouache paintings on the go and I feel excited about them. Gouache is good to me, forgiving and patient, flexible.

Time for a nap.