I haven’t made art in months.
I’ve only been writing this blog; no poetry, plays, or stories.
I don’t take as many photos as I used to.
I haven’t explored new parts of the city in a long time.
I used to buy a cheap pair of jeans just to draw all over them.
Now I watch tv shows I’ve already seen. I sit on my phone until my eyes hurt (yes, I’m aware of the irony of writing this on my phone.)
Why? Why am I so lazy? What makes settling easier than achievement? Accomplishing something creative is better than boredom.
And yet, when I pick up a pen, paintbrush, or camera, sometimes I just don’t have the motivation. I do blame adulthood a bit, but it’s also in my nature to feel pity for myself and just give up instead of try.
I sit in my head and say, “it’s okay, you can try tomorrow. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. You’re still lovely.” But I don’t practice this self-compassion nearly as much as I should, and I certainly don’t practice discipline and seek out challenges like I used to. Instead, I wind up feeling sorry for myself, thinking I suck, and just sitting on my hands.
Fuck this. I can’t survive winter like this.
I don’t need to create a life-changing work of art or become a world traveler, but I have to change this.
So I’m dedicating a little bit of my time each day to an activity I love.
-reading without distraction
-writing anything at all
-meditating, not just napping
-turning off the goddamn TV and putting away my phone
-altering or painting my clothes
-going to new parts of Chicago, or maybe even going somewhere new altogether
-taking photos with my badass camera, Elliott Smith (that’s her name)
-going out for tea with friends and leaving my phone in my purse
-people watching, especially during the holidays