Thoughts on Standing Still

I pulled out of the back parking lot of my “normal job” at 10 p.m., turned down the one-way street next to the Catholic church, turned again onto the only street with any signs of nightlife, a decent amount of cars parked on the street indicated a fun night at the Lounge, but I kept on driving the three minutes home. During this particular drive home that I’ve done hundreds of times, always the same departure location, sometimes a different house or apartment at the end, I realized something. I live here. This isn’t a temporary hold over until I figured out what was next anymore, I’ve been here for three years.

Ever since I first left home in 2013, I haven’t lived in a consistent location for more than two years. Whether that meant just leaving for summer breaks and returning in the fall or only moving somewhere for a couple months to work. I’ve become comfortable in this chaotic, ever-evolving life. For many people, there is something deeply inherent about not wanting to go back to your hometown, and for others, they may never leave. When your hometown has degraded and turned into dust, become a stop for gas, a memory of a snowstorm on a road trip, what is there left for you? My family is what is left. And the landscape. Those two things are what calls me home every time I leave.

I am not living in my hometown per se, but I’m living in the next closest thing, a town 20 miles away where we would come to escape boredom in high school by wandering Walmart, eating Chinese food, and flirting with boys at the skatepark. This town is not where I imagined myself living at age 30. It’s still not where I imagine myself living, that’s why when I had the realization that I have been here for three years, it scared me. I’m afraid I’ve become too comfortable.

Within the last several years, perhaps prompted by Covid, many younger people from the cities have moved here. New businesses have popped up and a sense of community has blossomed. And yet, I’ve been avoiding it. I don’t know if it has totally been on purpose or rather because I was trying to stay distant so that when I did leave again, there weren’t too many ties to cut. When I express my disdain for living in this town, I’m often met with a questionable look by newcomers, probably because it is still fresh for them. They’re in their honeymoon period with being somewhere new. I should be a newcomer in a small town in a different part of the country where nobody knows me, then I might feel that hopefulness again.

Usually when I begin to feel too comfortable or bored, I find an excuse to leave, pack up, and head out. This time is different. This time my parents are older, my partner owns a house here, I have two cats and lots of stuff. Oh and did I mention, finding a job as a college art professor is nearly impossible right now? These things, although important, could be worked out. Everything can be figured out, usually. But I think there is something else stopping me. Right now doesn’t feel like the time to uproot everything and start over. I’ve been telling myself for the past three years to use this time to create new work while the rent is decent and I have a backup job (things that may not be elsewhere). And as much damn work as I’ve made, nothing feels significant. I feel like I’ve lost my way while getting comfortable.

So what is it about being comfortable that stifles creativity for me? I think it is the longing and the ache of familiarity that brings out my best work. By being in an unfamiliar place or situation, the emotions pour out easier. Unfortunately for me, a lot of the time being sad equals making good work. That’s at least how I feel about the things that I make. Being in a familiar place, “sitting still,” makes me feel stuck creatively.

The thing is though, I am hurting and existentially uncomfortable. Just in a familiar place this time. I am hurting for this silly country, this world, and our future. I am constantly worrying if all this hard work will even be worth it in a year or two. I’m at a point in my life where the discussion of having children is becoming a real topic. The stress of feeling like ‘how could one raise a child in this shit storm’ and ‘I’m not even close to where I want to be in my career to be derailed by a child’ are arguments that are constantly beating down the inherent instinct of becoming a mother. This past year has been full of “grown up” realizations. I’m noticing more than ever, everyone around me is growing older. The fantasy that everything will work out is not as rosy as it was in my 20’s. I often feel far behind in life.

But these are worries that have time to work themselves out, really.

I’m so caught up worrying about what will happen rather than being present with what is happening. Even though I am sitting still in the sense that I haven’t packed up my Corolla and moved across the country in three years, I am not sitting still in my mind. I feel guilty that I can sit here on my cozy couch, drinking hot coffee, while typing up all my complaints. Complaints of things that haven’t even happened yet. When in fact, I have a home, my family is alive, I have food and water, and I have the space and peace to create work about my life. It is so unfair to those who do not. I often think about how hard I am trying to make it as an artist and then I imagine artists in Palestine or Ukraine, are they even alive? Where is their chance to tell their story? Where is their chance to have a normal struggle?

It is conflicting and uncomfortable to have negative feelings about one’s own life while also being incredibly grateful for it. I’m starting to realize that must be how a lot of people are feeling these days. And I think that is okay. We are capable of many emotions, we are capable of feeling existential dread for those in war torn countries while also being pissed off that the printer isn’t working. Although this type of thinking will give you some perspective, maybe that’s what we need. I’m grappling with ideas on how to create work about this dualism. How do I make something of importance when I don’t feel like I have anything important to say in the grand scheme of things?

Sitting still and slowing down. What do we have if not right now? Coming out of winter and into the spring, our bodies naturally want to begin to move and explore. On the contrary to physically sitting still, I think movement in one’s body creates space for the mind to be present. That is something I have to remind myself when I create excuses to not go on a hike or for a bike ride. Move your body but don’t run from things. That is my lesson here, to myself and to anyone else struggling with these inner conflicts. Maybe being home feels different this time because I am supposed to learn how to stand still, stay put for a while and see what happens.

This newsletter was a bit rambly but it is something I have been thinking about lately. I hope it helps you feel more seen if you’re struggling with similar thoughts and feelings about the world.

Thanks for taking time to sit still and read my bs. Love ya!

Autumn

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