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Keeping the Channel Open

December 3, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

This is a long quote, but worth a read:

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open… No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

– Martha Graham

I’ve been struggling a bit with writing lately. I’ve had the first line of this post written for a while and so far that’s all there is. It still exists in the shadows and nothing has come forward to shed light on what I’m trying to express.

Writing is a function of time. And inspiration. And a topic. But it also, whether we want it to or not, gathers breath from our feeling of whether we have a place in this world of people who choose to express themselves through the written word. And lately I don’t.

I’ve lost my focus here, which seems to be a cyclical thing. Have I mentioned how cute and squishy my new baby is? I have? Well, that’s all I’ve got.

Except it’s not. I’ve got snippets popping up like the newest green shoots in the spring. I desperately want to feed them and give them light so I can see what they will turn into, but it’s not happening. I think some of them might be profound if only they would show themselves.

Where do writers’ words come from? Mine, when I have them, come from the moments I wouldn’t otherwise notice. They come from that space in the dark right before I fall asleep when I finally uncover the right phrase only to lose it when the daylight comes.

My words come from my past and, increasingly, from my present. I want to stretch them beyond that and find out, through my words and the messages they whisper, where I’m going in the future. But right now there’s just right now.

I have never lived so fully in the present, but I don’t mean that in a good way. My world is made up of tiredness, and have-I-had-a-shower-yet, and calculating when I last fed the baby. My future, such as it is, stretches only as far as tonight when I wonder if tonight might be the night he sleeps longer, and then I stop wondering that and try to focus on the opportunity feeding a baby gives me to do some middle-of-the-night reading.

In doing that reading by the light peering out from the bathroom (not too bright but enough to see) I have discovered new voices. And I have had the time to read old voices. I have been reading and reading some more and pondering. Reading Kindle books for which my impression was I can write better than that. I think. Reading online magazine articles and news stories. (Ditto.) And reading blogs.

It’s the blogs, I think, that are causing the problem. So many good writers with so many authentic voices. I read their words and I wonder where they come from. Not from time spent in the darkness with only a bathroom light and a sleepy baby for company, I suspect.

I write for me, people say. That’s all that matters. And I do too. And it is. But it’s not – not for anyone, I’d argue. I write stories that matter to me and maybe I shed a tear or two when it seems like no one else cares.

I still want those stories written down, but lately the stories aren’t appearing the way I want them to. The words aren’t right. Sometimes they’re not there at all.

But maybe I don’t have to believe. Maybe I have to live with my blessed unrest and keep marching and find the piece that keeps me alive.

Maybe I just have to write regardless.

Filed Under: Writing · Tagged With: admissions, blogging, favourite activities

River of Consciousness

November 26, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

I desperately need to sleep, but we’re going out for dinner tonight so I don’t have time. Instead I get into the bath, except we don’t have quite enough hot water to fill the tub and I think, “That figures.”

Parts of my limbs stick out and they feel cool in contrast to the hot water. Cold, at first, but then refreshing.

I lie back and feel a single drop of water slide down my face. It bisects my temple exactly and then rolls toward my cheekbone where it disappears entirely, absorbed into the moisture on my face. I wonder if it was a tear, but no, tears don’t start at the temple, and besides, I’m holding my tears in.

I’m so tired.

I deliberately brought nothing to entertain me into the bath – no book, no phone, no iPad. I’m trying to force myself to relax and sink into something other than mothering, but at first the thoughts rush through my mind like a river – fast, tumbling over rocks, rushing past the stillness outside it.

Soon, eyes closed, I notice that the warmth from the water has seeped up through my body, and my knees and shoulders are no longer cold. All I feel is heat. It makes me sleepy.

For a while there is nothing. The river is still.

Then, for a moment, I lift my hand from the water to scratch an itch. The air feels cool and it wakes me up a bit. Then the contrast – heat again as I sink my hand back into the water.

Overhead, the bathroom fan is loud. Normally this bothers me but today I am grateful that it drowns out the noise, both in my head and beyond the door.

The river is still. Warm. Sleepy.

Almost asleep.

Time to get out.

[This was last week and I’ve significant catch-up sleep since then. I wrote this in my head in the bath (because apparently my brain doesn’t respond to “stop”) and then did some free-writing when I got out to get it down. It just seemed like something worth capturing.]

Filed Under: Hard things, Motherhood · Tagged With: admissions, sleep

A Modern Mom’s Approach to Laundry

November 21, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

What? Don’t you store clean laundry in the crib? I’m telling you – this is the way to go. It saves all that tedious folding and putting away nonsense.

Filed Under: Motherhood, Randomness · Tagged With: admissions

23 Days

October 25, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

I believe the common wisdom is that if you can do something— exercise, resist a cigarette, eat your veggies — for 21 days it becomes a habit. I’m not sure this same logic applies to parenting newborns.

Today is day 23. 23 days of getting to know this sweet face. 23 days of baby noises and baby cuddles and sweet baby smells.

And 23 days of not enough sleep. 23 days of feeding every two to three hours. 23 days of spitting up and diapers.

I hardly remember what life was like before he was part of it. I can’t revert back to not knowing him. But I do remember what it was like before.

I think the 21-days rule works backwards with babies. After 21 days you do what you do not because it’s a habit but because it must be done. Instead of feeling like the new freedom of carefully chosen ritual it starts to feel a little bit like chains – there, tethered, rattling.

I’ve been sick for the past 10 days or so. Just a horrible cold (with some pink eye thrown in for good measure) but the most sick I’ve ever been. The timing, needless to say, has not been great.

I’ve reached the point where he wakes up at night and I think, No. I try not to look at the clock and calculate how much sleep I might get before the next feeding. I do think about when I last changed his diaper and wonder whether I really have to do it again.

The newborn nights are tired, but they come with the sounds of soft breathing and the weight of a silky head on my shoulder. In many ways the days are harder.

I don’t do well without a routine, and a routine is something we are decidedly lacking. If any habits are being formed here, they’re bad ones – trying to sneak in extra sleep in the mornings instead of accepting that daylight has come, choosing to lie down instead of eating, getting dressed in only the very loosest sense of the term.

I’m starting to feel better (please let this cough go away soon) and am trying to force myself to do things that will help me feel better. Yesterday’s walk in the snow with a snuggly baby in the carrier was good. Getting up to eat breakfast is now on each morning’s agenda. Finding things to play with Connor so he doesn’t get bored is important for my sanity.

I know there are things about this phase that are hard. But I also know it’s temporary.

After all, it’s only day 23.

Filed Under: Hard things, Motherhood · Tagged With: admissions, perspective

Time Will Tell

September 24, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

Image credit: tamburix on Flickr

My head is not quiet.

Two days ago it was quiet, or relatively so. With three weeks to go before my due date I was living in a surreal space. I know what’s to come (more or less) but I was having a hard time believing it’s coming so soon.

Having a second baby is a weird experience. Before my first was born I was anxious, though just how anxious I didn’t actually realize at the time. I was still lost in that first-time-mom fog of dreaming about sweet babies and sighs and soft blankets. Because you don’t know, do you? You can never really know what it’s like to have a new baby until you get there yourself.

This time I know what it’s like, and yet not really. What will it be like with two? How will I be? Is it going to be okay?For the past several weeks I’ve been more focused on meeting this new little being than I have been about how he’s going to get here and what will happen in the days and weeks and months after. I feel like I know this child already – the one who likes to stick his feet in my ribs, the one who gets hiccups a lot, the one who dances when I eat something sweet, which are all things Connor never really did. I’m trying to picture him – his hair, his cheeks, his fingers. Will he look like his brother? Will he have my eyes?

And then on Saturday night I woke up around midnight having contractions. They were the mild Braxton Hicks type, slow but rhythmic, and unlike anything this mama who’s never laboured before has experienced. I thought, Hi! Are you getting ready to come? and Good. We can do this together.

Then on Sunday morning I got cranky. At first I blamed my efforts to play around with design (never a good thing) and then I retreated upstairs for a bit.

And then I couldn’t breathe.

I’m not ready, I thought. We don’t have the hospital bag packed and the car seat isn’t installed and we haven’t figured out where we’re going to store the receiving blankets. We need to get the windshield replaced. The dog needs to go to the groomer. We need more freezer meals!

The list I had made the night before suddenly seemed overwhelming and despite being organized I felt ill-prepared. I let that feeling of the list, the list drown out the little voice in my head that was telling me that’s not what this is about.

But I don’t want to think about that.

Like a big girl, I did think about it and realized I was having an anxiety attack. Yes, we have more stuff to do. No, none of it is critical – the hospital bag is half ready and we can chuck the rest in if we need to, and the car seat can be installed quickly. But I’m not ready.

I need to think more about this whole birth process (more on that in another post) and I need to sit with my thoughts for a while. This baby might be as challenging as Connor was. I might not cope this time either. It might be better or worse, happier or harder, but I need to internalize the knowing that ultimately it will be okay.

It will be okay.

So I took a deep breath, let the anxiety in and acknowledged its presence, then watched it leave. I don’t know what the next day will bring, or the next three weeks, or the next three months. Whatever happens will happen, and it will happen on its own schedule.

I’m not ready, but I don’t have to be.

It will be okay.