Today was nothing supreme. I think I definitely imagined this month being one endless existential revelation after another, or definitely an emotional rollercoaster where I’d be bawling on the floor most days. I don’t know why my brain goes to something drastic meaning it’s good (probably why in all my relationships I think we have to fight constantly in order for us to be “working through shit.”) I have a meditation group I sit and share with every morning. My meditation time today was really excellent. I felt focused and kept bringing myself back to “I am no thing.” Which made me think of (maybe the meditation time didn’t go so well) a Seinfeld episode I just recently watched, “The Pitch,” where George is upset that NBC isn’t offering him and Jerry more money for their show than they’re offering another famous writer. Jerry says it’s because George is nobody and that guy is somebody. I want to make t-shirts with George’s face that says, “Be a nobody.” This was a helpful mindset as I had imposter syndrome pretty strong all day and my inner cynic kept saying snidely, “Who do you think you are?” I could respond, “Yeah, I’m nobody.”
I stuck pretty closely to my schedule, which felt like a triumph.
During the first “week” chapter of The Artist’s Way, which is about negative voices and warring them with positive affirmations, I did have this thought when she was talking about negative core beliefs. I do find it completely ideal and yet completely unattainable for me to be an artist. Why is this, I thought? Because being an artist means that I have to internalize and love my life enough to make something out of it. I constantly am wishing I was in other people’s lives – like, it’s seriously not cute or funny or simply petty. It’s to the point that I can’t even focus on consistent thought cycles when I’m outside with strangers passing me because I think, “They’re probably more interesting than me.” Presentness and being happy with my own existence is not a feeling I know on a daily basis. That’s a blockage, I thought. First blockage acknowledged.
The afternoon was my writing time. I’d had a song that I had started for a friend of mine who recently took her life. She was all I could think about wanting to write about. But I found it disturbingly difficult to get away from some aesthetic concern long enough to actually feel anything. I would write a line and think, “What the fuck do you mean? Do you actually feel that at all? Why are you singing this line like you’re in a fucking choir reading a piece of music? Put some soul into it, goddamn it.”
It struck me how easy it is to lie. And it disturbed me how easy it was to lie and think about myself when I was writing a song like this for a friend who took her life because she felt she wasn’t enough. Appropriation is constantly brushing elbows with us every moment.
At one point, I just briefly looked over the ukulele chords that would fit into the key I was writing in, and I just started singing a melody and playing. It wasn’t until then that I felt like my friend was present, like I was listening and she was telling me something. I guess that’s the feeling of admitting you’re a conduit? But it never sat well with me when people would say, “You’re a conduit for Christ.” If I’m just a conduit, how the hell do I write anything? How do you balance being a conduit and letting go of the moment while knowing enough intellectually and having enough capability to actually make something that’s excellent? This is not a new thought, but it’s really hard for me to grasp it for some reason. I’ve had this thought many times and I either harp on one side or the other – or I drop into the bog of despair about ever figuring it out and I go watch something to take my mind off it.
I didn’t do that today. I didn’t despair. But I definitely feel unoriginal and cold. I do not feel tapped into the emotion. There is so much there for me, of me, I believe that. But mining it is fucking wild. In listening to Dr. Joe Dispenza’s book on tape Becoming Supernatural, I learned that 95% of who we think we are is really just learned habitual patterns and cycles and chemical reactions that the body has taken over from the thinking mind and repeats on autopilot. It shouldn’t be surprising, I guess, that tapping into that 5% of soul and transforming it takes incessant practice.