What do you do when you have fallen out of a habit that you once found useful, calming even, but which now seems like a distant memory. Is it better to "let sleeping dogs lie", or is there some semblance of yearning still hovering in the inner recesses of the soul. Is this a true yearning, or simply a reminiscence, a remembrance of things past, nostalgia rather than growth.
I don't have the answer to any of these questions. 2022 has not been my best blogging year, but it has not been a year in which blogging was absent from my mind. Rather it has been more of a time of reacquaintance with so many things — chores, passions, energy, loss, newfound treasures. I suppose this is a long drawn-out way of saying some kind of reset has been required.
The month of May in particular has felt very much like a slow process of reconnection. There has been plenty to do, including things I used to write about: books and music in particular, but random navel grazing as well. These are all things about which I have spent time thinking even if not writing, thinking and wondering. There is a part of me that wants to return to the blogger I once was, before I knew anything about blogging, before anyone read my blog, when I just wrote whatever I felt like writing for the joy of it. A time when most of my friends thought the idea of blogging was suspect, and then, since they didn't know or care that I was blogging, I felt no sense of obligation to be anyone other than myself. Is there a way to recreate that bloggerly moment? Blogging is, in many ways, an anachronism. At least the kind of blogging I yearn for, not the commercialized, stylized, marketing-world blogging of today. But then, perhaps I too am an anachronism.
I am older now, and I am far less inclined to feel any sense of obligation to being anything anyone outside of myself expects me to be. But a yearning for the past isn't necessary a path forward, even as I think there are things to learn from that yearning. Our dreams, our thoughts, our emotions — not just these but also our indulgences — the things we read, the things we listen to, even the things we watch — all of these are our instruction manuals, if we are paying attention at least, our guides through the complex process of constant change that is life. I do believe we are attracted to and find the things that relate to some essential aspect of our inner selves, but whether we move forward or continue to look backward is up to us. Holding on to the past, to false stability, isn't growth
In early May I adopted a dog. Her name is Garbo and is is mostly standard poodle with a tiny sprinkling of golden retriever fairy dust. She is sweet, elegant, silly, and a great companion. She greets me all wiggles and squeaks when I come home, and she runs around improvising a small symphony in squeaky toys to show her gladness at my return. She is also a calm and patient studio assistant.
Garbo has also gotten me out of the house for two walks most days, a long walk in the morning, and a shorter walk most evenings, although there are some evenings when I am out at other events and our late walk becomes very short indeed. My goal is to gradually increase my walks to be 3 to 5 miles per day, not all in one walk, but divided between two, or even three walks, although three may not happen often in the midst of summer heat and humidity. At the moment we are up to three miles per day. In terms of energy, and cardiovascularly I am ready for an increase, but last week I had a bit of ankle tendinitis, and this week my left knee is bothering me, so best not to push. The knee is probably due to differences in gait caused by back pain last week, and that aforementioned ankle, and I do not think it will be a long-term setback.
I have also been catching up on the piles of stuff, and the many tasks and routines upon which I fell behind following chemotherapy, radiation, and then struggles with atrial flutter and two additional procedures. I am still working through cycles of physical therapy for damage to my right shoulder and chest musculature. It has taken me some time to get fully settled back into these routines: walking, stretching and exercises, housework, cooking and all the activities of maintaining a comfortable and valuable life, including reading, knitting, needlework and yes, sewing. The goal has been in terms of reestablishing habits. The writing habit has not yet been the priority, but the air seems to be signaling that said change may be in the works. The trick for me is, always, to maintain structure and habits, when my natures is now, and always has been, to throw myself entirely into the activity of the moment and allow all other things to fall away. This was not manageable when I was 20, but at that time I could convince myself I had time. Now I realize more fully how interrelated everything is, how fleeting the passage of time, and my increasing inability to bounce back from abandoned structures.
I can accept that I have not, prior to this moment, had time to write. Do I now? Once again I have no idea.
I don't want to return in any haphazard, piecemeal fashion. I want my writing, like my daily walks with Garbo, to become a fixture in my life, something that is a necessary part of existence whatever other temptations may arise to lure me away. I want my writing, like my walks, like cooking, like playing with fiber, to be something that is a necessary part of who I am, and therefore not subject to whim. I must walk, even when I don't feel like it. Garbo and I both need the walks, and the need to walk Garbo is enough to pull me out of my own periodic funks and reluctances. But rebuilding habits is a struggle. Is blogging the same? I suspect it is.
I suppose then, I am writing a long, navel-grazing statement of intent. I intend to blog. I intend to maintain the three separate blogs, as they play different roles in my mental and writing life. Does that mean that occasionally one or the other will be neglected? Probably yes. Just as in life. There was the week I cooked a great deal, trying new recipes from a new cookbook. All other activities fell back. This past week I have spent more time sewing, and my knitting has fallen by the wayside. I have knitted most days, but there are days when that knitting may consist of a single row, a tiny blip. The habit has not been lost, but my focus has been more about priorities than product.
Am I ready to add something new into the mix? HaveI a reached a state where the habits that I have formed are well enough established, like these flowers in the garden, that they will continue to blossom? Am I ready to fill in the empty spaces? It seems the only consistent thread in this post is that I have no idea of what the thread is, or where the answers may lie hidden. Here I am. Life is often easier than I expect it to be, and at the same time it is harder than I want it to be. But isn't that the basic conundrum of human existence?