I Don't Know What To Do. So, I'm Writing This.

Required Down Time

My brain has been offline. I went on a week long trip at the end of last month. A family reunion gig. It was great. Left me drained, though. Travel does that¹.

It's been a couple weeks. I expected the first one to be recovery. That bled into the second. I did very little work through the fortnight. Whatever brain chemicals in the brain that provided motivation weren't there.

That used to scare me. Ever since the big kickoff from my first manic bipolar episode seven years ago I've been uneasy with times when my brain wouldn't go. Or, really, it was the two years of clinical depression afterwards that gave me the fear.

I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to do creative work again. I'd cycled back and forth between what I now know is hypo-mania and low grade depression all my life. It was just the way of things. I'd do a bunch of shit for a few weeks then crash out for a weekend.

Two years under the full weight fucked me up. During the time it was crushing. Now, it's a trauma reaction. When I'd get down I'd wonder if it was the start of another bout that would last a year.

More, it was fear of it being permanent.

What if, this time, there was no recovery?

What if, this time, my brain broke with finality?

Practicing The Start

I've been through that loop a lot.

Each time, I get less worried about it.

So far, my creativity (and desire to create) has always come back. Someday, it won't. I can't do anything about that. My practice these days is to let those thoughts pass over me. Fear is the mind killer, after all.

The trick is the transition. Getting moving again. Nowhere near the climb of The Clicky Sound². More breaking stiffness. Cracking through calcification.

I get an ounce of creative energy. Kindling.

But, what to do with it? It's not enough to dig into much. It's fleeting, though. Failing to use it leads back to an unmoving brain. Another time through the loop.

A week or two of nothing.

I don't have a gig right now. The work I'm missing out on is my work. The personal push to make a positive impact on the world. Time is limited. I see that so clearly now. I feel its loss when I fail to start. Fail to get going again.

So, I write.

A short thing. Unconnected from the baggage of other projects. A way to start moving again. The content doesn't matter. The purpose is not the words. The purpose is progress. Making the first step back into motion.

And, with that line, I'm back.

-a