Distance

Distance. One word with a myriad of attached ideas. The space between two points, the play between perspectives, and how it can shift the way we see the world.

As a mom, wife, friend, co-worker, volunteer, writer, runner, kenpoist and all the other shit I personify in life, I get really bogged down in how the world sees me.

We all have responsibilities and I know that I talk about this a lot. But I think that part of the beauty of being human is trying to find a balance between what we have to do and what we want to do in terms of how we create artistically.

It’s generally agreed upon that the have-to’s rarely help out the want to’s. That is, when we are so embroiled in buying groceries and appeasing children, and working the hours, and mopping the floors, we have very little left of brain and body to contribute to our art.

wood fire hot glow
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Maybe some people don’t have this problem and the fire in their core burns bright enough to fuel all of their endeavors whether they are necessary or casual.

But I ain’t one of those people.

In our world today we’re seeing a startling trend of human beings snapping.

 

I think it’s the fast pace. I think it’s the constant technological interconnection and human disconnection. I think it’s the noise that barrages us, nonstop. I think it’s the expectations, and the anger, the powerlessness that often comes when we realize how fragile we are and how big the world’s problems can seem when they’re looming over our heads.

All. The. Time.

No wonder we medicate. No wonder we drink. No wonder we take out our aggression on innocent bystanders and make scapegoats out of whatever group we think could be the root of suffering.

It isn’t right, it isn’t just. But our poor little lizard brains can’t contemplate or find order under such constant distress. Most of us, aren’t self-aware enough to stop and gain perspective on it all.

 

And that brings me back to distance.

 

Distance and perspective are fraternal twins. Borne of the same womb but different in their nature. We need one to have the other. Both are vitally important to our survival as a species.

 

Distance as an artist can be hard to gain. It means dropping the roles we are pegged into, permanently or at least temporarily, in order to have hour proverbial hands free to create, to problem solve, and to ease the process of gaining proper perspective that will, eventually lead to healthier choices, lifestyles and hopefully communities at large.

 

So stop. For a day. For a week. Hell, for an hour. Disconnect.

woman looking at sunset
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Leave behind the have to’s and make it okay for yourself to let go.

Let your overactive, overachieving brain know that this is the time to not.

To not think too much, to not make lists or plans or organize the day. Let your brain know that there’s no shame in stillness. In staring out the window at the snow, or sleeping in. Or writing just to write, and not feeling obligated to anything else. To paint without interruption unless you feel like getting out for a walk.

How many of us have ever let our bodies and brains do just what they wanted, just when they wanted?

Not many. We always have too much shit to do.

So drop the shit. Let it go.

Be okay with just being.

 

You’d be surprised the calm that will find you. And a calm mind is a happy mind.

A creative mind

A forgiving mind.

An open and accepting mind.

It can become all of the things our world needs.

 

So go find some distance. Get out of town, get out of your cubicle, get out of your head.

 

So you can get back into your soul.

 

 

 

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VerseDay 8-2-18 (postponed)

So…yesterday was a bit of a beast. I won’t bore you with the gory details but suffice to say I rarely had a chance to sit still, let alone conjure up a worthy poem. So here you are. I’m not sure it’s worthy, but it’s something.

 

rocky cliffRelentless

It was the journey that killed her

It was the relentless pounding of feet and fury

It was the constant buzzing

Deep in her brain, that she couldn’t escape

 

The sound of her own heart

Garish in ears,

Metal hammer clamoring against anvil ribs

 

It was the uncertainty

The wobble of unknowing

That finally knocked her off

 

She wanted.

That’s why she fell.

 

What she could not have

What she could not give

What she was not worth

What she failed to do

All eager hands at her back on perilous edge

 

It was the pressure

The lid on the pot too tightly sealed

That finally did her in.