63. are we there yet?

I’ve been writing here for 63 days, so that means… only 302 left to go. 

I’ll be honest, I’ve been having misgivings about the duration of this project. It usually goes something like, “It’s only day 63. How in the world are you going to have something to say for the next 302 days? Throw in the towel, already, this is silly. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

I’ll be honest, I still don’t know the answer to that question beyond my initial intentions. I also think they are fading slightly, or I’m forgetting, maybe because some of them have come to fruition, and the result of it is feeling like “Aw, social media isn’t so bad. It wasn’t that big a waste of time, and it was helpful for business. You should go back. What if people are messaging you? What if you miss something important?”

I’ll be honest, I’m kind of lonely, somehow? And that is a question, because I’m not lonely in the regular sense. Didn’t I just write yesterday about how all I wanted was to be left alone and GTF away from everyone? So what kind of loneliness is it, that makes me feel like it would be filled by letting myself back online in the little square box way? 

I’ll be honest, it’s not loneliness. It’s a very specific flavor of desire for a certain texture of attention. Scratch that, perceived attention. It’s something I find myself craving when I’ve spent lots of time momming and doing routine, mundane things around the home. It’s a desire to be admired, and boy if that doesn’t feel yucky when I type it out. Ok, what if we say appreciated, does that feel better? 

I’ll be honest, it doesn’t, and it’s not entirely accurate, either. I do receive appreciation and validation from my clients, husband, and close friends. The unique shade of craving that I find when I think about social media has something to do with sharing my moment, and having others say, “yeah, I feel that, me too.” It’s the feeling of being met in the moment. 

I’ll be honest, I also have compunctions about having someone else share my writing and images for me on social media as I complete this project. I can’t quite put my finger on that feeling, either, but at times it feels like it’s disingenuous, misleading, confusing, or hypocritical. Which may be simply because my Virgo moon and Mercury conjunct Pluto in Scorpio simply aren’t satisfied in life without finding some fault in myself, something to criticize. It’s their hobby, apparently, particularly during my luteal phase. 

I’ll be honest, I should pat myself on the back for what is going well in this project. I said I’d spend month one working on content pillars and I did that. I said I’d spend month two working on SEO and I’m doing that. I was worried about lead generation and keeping my income afloat, and while I’m not rolling in dough, I’m continuing slow, steady booking of clients, taking on guest teaching opportunities, building the back end pathways for long term business health, and making it work. 

I’ll be honest, I catch myself more often than I’d like wondering (worrying?) if I am entertaining you, if it’s good enough, if you’re starting to get bored and at some point going to say, “this is stupid, I’m out.” The longing to belong, to matter, to be relevant, to be valuable, is so persistent, and every time it pipes up, I have to remind it that (no offense) that’s not what we’re doing here. 

I’ll be honest, within myself I feel like a little kid riding in the backseat of a car on a road trip to somewhere exceedingly far away, who has read all my books, listened to all my cassette tapes (twice on each side), played 20 questions more times than I can count, and doesn’t wanna do any more Slug-Bug, because my arm hurts. I’m slumped down in my seat, staring at the world go by, scanning my daydreams for something interesting to engage with, and there’s nothing else to do, because it’s 1990 and no one has cell phones. It’s that point where I’m whining “I’m booooorrrreeed,” and my mom cheerfully volleys back, “Boredom is the source of all creativity!”

I’ll be honest, I hope Mom is right, because days like today, day 63, I feel like my creativity is all dried up, like there’s a million things I could say, could write about, but none of them are really very interesting, none of them are sensational, none of them are polarizing, none of them are a hook or a gimmick or urgency or scarcity or shiny things or whatever it is that makes people on social media tap in and chime in and double tap and comment and DM and poppity pop pop little red hearts and dopamine bubbles all over my hypothalamus. 

I’ll be honest, this is gonna have to be good enough for tonight, because the “I’ll be honest” line has worn out its welcome. I’m telling myself in this moment that being a writer is going to guarantee fallow days and times when my own words sound wonky and hollow in my mind-ears. I’m telling myself that, like my teachers at the yoga ashram used to say, “when you want to leave the posture is when the inner work begins.” I’m telling myself that to trust myself more deeply only asks that I keep showing up. I’m telling myself to pull out my journal, grab my colored pencils, pop Paula Abdul into my Walkman, stretch out in the backseat with no seatbelt and and just create something, because I’m done listening to me bleat like a moony sheep, “waaaaaa, are we there yet?”

I'll be honest... are we there yet?