A Year

 I've had conversations with several friends in the past couple days, sharing that for all of us, our baseline anxiety is extremely high this week. I have to imagine that it's at least somewhat related to the fact that this week a year ago was the week that....everything stopped. It was our last few days of relative normalcy before we were locked down. And that 14 day lockdown turned out to be a year (so far) of at least some sort of variation on lockdown. And I think the fact that we're hitting a year really drives home the feeling of "This is never going to end."

Of course, rationally, I realize it will, to some extent, end. I've had my first dose of vaccine. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It's still fairly dim and far away, but it's there. 

And then, there is the ROARING return of things I was anxious about before everything stopped. Life is beginning to pick back up, and a year later, all those things...are still there, waiting for me. 

I quit therapy over the quarantine year. I did Zoom sessions for several months of it, but at some point, it just started to feel like it wasn't really doing much for me. No shade to my therapist. It just felt a little bit...futile. 

What really helps me most? Is time with my friends. Time to chat, to vent, and most importantly, to laugh. And that hasn't been able to happen nearly enough in the past year. That's the therapy I need most.

Blocked

 I'm in a group of women who meet once a month to talk about life, and about what we want out of it that we aren't currently getting, and how we can get to where we want to be. I love our conversations. They always help to re-focus me and to remind me that I'm not alone in the things I go through. This past year in particular, solidarity is key.

Among the topics we discussed today was how difficult it can be to be creative during this time when there is SO MUCH to focus on. It's like there's so much input that it actually makes it more challenging to create output? I've been beyond blocked for most of the past year. There is so much I'd like to say, but I cannot for the life of me find the right words. And anyone who knows me knows how crazy that drives me. 

I've been consuming other people's creativity and art at an astounding rate. I've read more books and watched more movies and shows, enjoyed more photographs, than I probably ever have in a year's time. And yet, when I sit down to write, nothing comes. 

I recently watched a show wherein the main character discovers her inner poet. It got me thinking about my days as a poet. I'm not going to pretend that I was any good. I have my poetry stored somewhere, and I'm sure reading it would make me cringe like no other. But I do miss the act of writing a poem. The puzzle of fitting words together just so. I need that type of creative outlet now, when life is so stressful. 

Writing has always helped me to process life. It can soothe the raw nerve of a hard experience. A good song and a notebook used to be my safe space. I've mentioned many times that I started this blog as a kind of proxy for the notebook. And you guys, I really need to use it as such. My brain is so crowded and everything in it is spinning so fast. Writing helps me to slow the thoughts down and make sense of them. Being blocked means everything gets stuck up there. It's a big ole mess. 

Will I keep to it this time? I guess we'll see.