Awe is a Muscle

Oh Good Morning, Brave, Beautiful You.

Do you feel a bit bedraggled, yet stirrings of hope remain? Maybe it’s just me - it’s been a tumultuous few months after all, what with the grieving, the depression, the weather, the screeching energy of what my shrink assures me has been my one and only midlife crisis, perhaps coming (dear God PLEASE) to a fragile, fluttering close.

I don’t think I’m so different from most people - my bits are just a little more amplified, because I’ve lived my life as an artist (or whatever you’d call it). I’ve honed my ability to dissociate from drama and trauma by turning to my little private space of play and discovery, which has been a constant for as long as I can remember. You probably know that space, too.

But for months on end, I couldn’t find mine - that sacred space was there one day, then poof, zilch, nada, gaping maw of the void and all that - it was just very very gone. And as this space was my refuge, I felt very very sad that perhaps those days were simply behind me, and I needed to just pull up my sweatpants and trudge ahead with the routine of it all.

Sure, little glimmers remained, but they were just on the edges of my vision, intractable, almost seeming to jeer at me. I think that was the worst part. I started to avoid - to loathe, if I’m honest - any evidence that other people were enjoying the hell out of their lives. And here I am running an arts nonprofit based on love, creation, connection, and belonging - what a freakin’ fraud I am, right? So yeah - I’ve been offline, to say the least.

But an energy has begun to shift, and while perhaps it is helped along by the promise of spring, a bedrock of support from friends - you included - has kept me from tumbling into the abyss. I’ve started to wiggle and dance again. A blank page is less of a threat, and small talk is more an opportunity than an awkward hope that it will be over soon.

I had a dream last night; I was outside of a ryokan in Japan (neither of which I’ve ever experienced). I held a giant piece of very heavy paper underneath the eaves, delighting in how the raindrops played with the watercolors I had placed on the page. The scene was so magical - prisms of light from each drop, the splash and schlieren hitting saturated colors and spreading out into an infinite space of possibility.

And, even in this beautiful dream, thoughts of uselessness and banality derailed that simple joy. I’ve come to call this tendency towards negativity my “Inner Dream Shitter,” and to see it come in so clearly, and watch its effects - draining the color, joy and meaning from my little quiet moment with the world and its water and light - gave me the realization that awe is a muscle, and if I want rays of sunshine, I have the choice to conjure them.

Ah. Choice. Damn that feels exhausting, right? But in the dream, I acknowledged this entropic energy, decided it had hogged the spotlight for long enough, and moved upstage into the joy of it all. I basically switched off the news and tuned into Monk at the piano.

Oscar Wilde said, “we are all in the gutter. but some of us are looking at the stars.” And it takes so much energy to keep our eyes trained upwards. We develop sore necks and jowls and hunches from the repeated actions of casting our gazes downwards, and gravity becomes a habitual force that we “naturally” succumb to.

I know I’m not alone in my battle with entropy, depression, futility and existentialism - people I am close to have also been struggling. Perhaps its a natural thing, but it does seem to be ramped up at this particular moment. The world seems to be hurting more than it has. True, we have had fewer deaths from conflicts and famine in recent decades than in most of the 20th century, but something is going on. My people, you, seem quite tired…quite disheartened.

Might it be time for quiet, tiny experiments with letting some light filter in? The sound of grackles chattering and squeaking in the dawn can be, instead of mere noise and static and promises of bird shit, discernable signals from a universal frequency. The shadows of a truck tire can cast shapes of mystery; a chain link fence can seem like a patchwork quilt sewn by arthritic yet incredibly warm hands. Your own belly, shunned and neglected, can be a soft source of tenderness and proof of life. While the world can feel leached of color, there are always subtle variations to be found.

And it is that very act of searching, of discovering, of imagining, that keeps us buoyant. From the tired souls I meet who work for justice, to the cashiers who somehow remain friendly, to the determined artists who scratch and pull and holler at a moment to bring it to life, we all have the ability to rise above the gloom and capture moments of pure glory. I think the point is that while they are, by nature, temporary, these moments and the energy we spend working towards them, are what make the difference between a good life and merely existing.

So, That’s where I’m at today. I hope this resonates with you, because I will need you to remind me of it at some point in the future. We need each other, you and me, and I thank you for going on this little jaunt.

Here’s to low-key flexes, to tiny triumphs over the rumble and buzz of the zeitgeist, and, dear beautiful human, to you. We can do this.