I’ve tried to write this post a dozen times. But, damn. My head is spinning. I had so hoped that the freshness of the new year would at least wrap us in some small cocoon of hope for a short time.
But it didn’t even last a week.
I’ve taken longer than that to return a text.
In the time it took for democracy to be nearly overthrown, I’ve… folded laundry. I’ve bought things on the internet that haven’t even arrived yet. It’s hard not to feel a sense of whiplash.
I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to say. When the best thing that can happen in the coming days is nothing, yeah, that’s not a great place to be.
I’ve taken to focusing on my tiny orbit. Heads down. Work mode. Self care. Long hot baths. Paperback books. Music played loudly through wooden speakers.
I can’t control the larger world, but I can find things to appreciate in my tiny sliver of it. So, I’m doing that. Looking out and looking in.
I took a walk around the farm this morning. It snowed last night, and it’s beautiful. The sky is a dusky blue and the bee house is a golden brown. The hives didn’t all make it, but some of the honey did. The Queen Anne’s lace holds the snow like cotton balls, and the magnolia we planted on our anniversary stands like a graceful sentry in the middle of the yard.
The ducks spent the day pattering back and forth between the bird feeder and the smallest pond, now liquid again. After a week of slumber parties in the chicken coop, they’re back to spending the night outdoors where the open water keeps them safe. They wish me good morning and beg for food in the same loud squawking breath.
My studio stands serene against the blue gray sky. My first projects of the year lie just beyond that door. The sunflowers that surrounded it in the summer are nothing but dried stalks and seeds, but the wild birds still love them.
Later today I’ll walk in that door and start building a crate for an upcoming install. Work feels good right now. It makes me feel useful, like a participant, not just an observer. Then again, work always makes me feel good.
I took some time earlier this month to set my intentions for the year, and write long lists of lofty goals. And they’re important, to be sure. But maybe what I forgot was to remind myself to simply stop and look at the world around me. Look out, and look in.
And if nothing happens, well, nothing’s all right with me.
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