I forced myself to write for a year while some terrible things were happening to people around me and the feelings from the one sort of got contagious and affected the other badly. Now I haven't posted for a long time. I hope you feel. Better soon
You are in a far better place. You see what most do not. Your keys open doors. My Romanian friend wrote and loved, but always felt not enough. Right to the end a a yogi she helped others, believed she could heal herself and died too young from pancreatic cancer. I write by closing eyes. See sun rises, sunsets. Each day is a pencil line closer to a moment where I draw the last breath. Breathe in a gasp. Let go. Touch the keys, push into the slot. Open the door. What do you have to lose but a love gone by and missed opportunity.
I love this quote from Theodore Roethke and it may help: ‘I was in that particular hell of the poet: a longish dry period. It was 1952, I was 44, and I thought I was done. I was living alone in a biggish house in Edmond, Washington. I had been reading—and rereading—not Yeats, but Raleigh and Sir John Davies. I had been teaching the five-beat line for weeks—I knew quite a bit about it, but write it myself?—no: so I felt myself a fraud.”
Feeling something similar. Seeing a pattern of many to opt away from Substack as well for some reason--or it just happens to strike me in a pattern, due to what I think and feel internally.
Reminds me of this principle in dog training: don't push beyond what is attainable, but neither make it too easy. Seems to me that we burn out for similar reasons: pushing beyond what has a reasonable chance to succeed, for whatever reason it may be. But we'll suffer the fate of boredom, purposelessness, if we don't have anything to lay our hands on. Working through something that did challenge our capacities, that in the end made us succeed despite difficulties and failures along the way--that seems to me the balance in a feeling of fulfillment or accomplishment.
Your words reach me well, to hear from you, as well as hearing an echo of myself in you. We're all not so alone in it; I am not alone in it, it makes me feel. Khalil Gibran's said something like it once; "only when a juggler misses catching his ball does he appeal to me".
Andrei, I won't offer any advice because everyone is built different. What I say or think doesn't really matter. There is no magic answer or solution I can give you, but I will say this, I have been where you're at. What I can offer you is encouragement. Keep your head up and keep writing but do so when you feel it. Follow your heart. Sincere best wishes to you in your endeavors. - Jim
I feel this, Andrei. Best on taking care of yourself in all seasons of your creativity. Even the quiet ones, which are necessary, and still count! 💜
Meg! So good to hear from you here. Thanks for the comment and for checking in!
I forced myself to write for a year while some terrible things were happening to people around me and the feelings from the one sort of got contagious and affected the other badly. Now I haven't posted for a long time. I hope you feel. Better soon
Hey, man. Missed your presence here. Thanks for the thoughts.
You are in a far better place. You see what most do not. Your keys open doors. My Romanian friend wrote and loved, but always felt not enough. Right to the end a a yogi she helped others, believed she could heal herself and died too young from pancreatic cancer. I write by closing eyes. See sun rises, sunsets. Each day is a pencil line closer to a moment where I draw the last breath. Breathe in a gasp. Let go. Touch the keys, push into the slot. Open the door. What do you have to lose but a love gone by and missed opportunity.
✌️
Wishing you deep rest and rejuvenation. Hope you are able to get outside, breathe deeply, and ask your body what it needs from you at this time.
Thanks, Elise! Will try to listen more and just be patient this time.
I love this quote from Theodore Roethke and it may help: ‘I was in that particular hell of the poet: a longish dry period. It was 1952, I was 44, and I thought I was done. I was living alone in a biggish house in Edmond, Washington. I had been reading—and rereading—not Yeats, but Raleigh and Sir John Davies. I had been teaching the five-beat line for weeks—I knew quite a bit about it, but write it myself?—no: so I felt myself a fraud.”
"The Dance" came after ...
Damn… all part of the journey, eh?
Exactly ...
Feeling something similar. Seeing a pattern of many to opt away from Substack as well for some reason--or it just happens to strike me in a pattern, due to what I think and feel internally.
Reminds me of this principle in dog training: don't push beyond what is attainable, but neither make it too easy. Seems to me that we burn out for similar reasons: pushing beyond what has a reasonable chance to succeed, for whatever reason it may be. But we'll suffer the fate of boredom, purposelessness, if we don't have anything to lay our hands on. Working through something that did challenge our capacities, that in the end made us succeed despite difficulties and failures along the way--that seems to me the balance in a feeling of fulfillment or accomplishment.
Your words reach me well, to hear from you, as well as hearing an echo of myself in you. We're all not so alone in it; I am not alone in it, it makes me feel. Khalil Gibran's said something like it once; "only when a juggler misses catching his ball does he appeal to me".
Haha, yes, I suppose failure is much more interesting and says much more (about the person, about the activity etc.) than success.
Andrei, I won't offer any advice because everyone is built different. What I say or think doesn't really matter. There is no magic answer or solution I can give you, but I will say this, I have been where you're at. What I can offer you is encouragement. Keep your head up and keep writing but do so when you feel it. Follow your heart. Sincere best wishes to you in your endeavors. - Jim
Thanks for the kind thoughts, Jim!