This was originally sent as a newsletter for Of Pens & Paintbrushes. If you’d like to get this directly in your inbox, you can sign up here, at the Newsletter sign up page.
We’re making incremental progress on everything here.
When I feel shame about not having anything finished to show for how much work I’m doing, when I find myself needing validation that the work will someday feel like it was worth it, I remind myself:
Incremental is a Good Thing. It is sustainable, it is encouraging, it maintains momentum. So many people have been taught that not finishing in one go, to not have it All Together Right Away is a sign of being undisciplined. No. Remind me again how trees grow and how rivers carve canyons, tell me again of how fusion in stars works, before you offer platitudes for incremental progress. Incremental is grounded in reality.
I’ve been slowly, very slowly, going through the piles of Steve’s things that were boxed and shoved in an out of the way but visible corner of the living room. (The reasons for the whole giant mess are complicated and not what you’d expect… and I just don’t feel like explaining. It’s not rooted in grief.)
Whatever the reasons are, and regardless of how valid they are, I still feel like I am carrying the weight of his expectations and hoarding because of the presence of those piles of his stuff. Those piles are petri dishes breeding resentment and paralysis, and it has been a process to acknowledge and release those feelings so I can start clearing them out – I’ve been actively working on that letting go for two years. Saying this, I notice resistance and shame. Poked, it brings up a memory of a recent ex judging one of their exes for having not gone through everything of their dead parents, and how distasteful they thought it was to still have boxes of memorabilia from their parents after their death. Like a flashlight in a dark attic corner, it shines light on the amount of shame I carry from giving weight to the words and worlds of others over my own – it is extensive.
I have long been tired of carrying that weight. It grinds me down. It makes everything else harder, more of a fight to start. Every adventure, every spark of curiosity is dampened by that shame, like a fire blanket thrown on a nascent spark of a blaze. (Which is working as intended – who actually enjoys that feeling, except the people who benefit from things staying as is?)
It gets easier and faster to let it go every single day. It’s why I talk about my spiritual practice more often – I’m not going to be ashamed of what I believe because there are people who find it distasteful or embarrassing. Same with that little rainbow flag in all my social media bios now.
(I’ve gotten so much better at trusting myself. The kids are following suit. I’m proud of us all.)
I used to hate waking up because of that shame. I hated going outside to work in the yard – something I love – because all I could hear was the litany of judgment and shame of what Steve, neighbors, and other people would think about the state it’s in.
Remind me again how the trees grow.
I started the new garden beds that I’ve been wanting to build for years, the ones using the giant timber bamboo we have growing on property, using the fallen leaves as mulch and weed barrier with recycled cardboard that piled up in the living room in waves. I got shade for wanting and starting this years ago, for testing the idea, even after it worked. I remind myself that vision is not granted to us all.
Nor is the courage to trust our vision, dreams, desires, sense of adventure, instincts. If you only ever listen to what you are told is truth or right or the myriad of supposed to be-s that maintain the status quo, how much satisfaction will you miss out on? Sure, it’s going to put some people off, but you count as someone whose opinion and curiosity and satisfaction matter too, you know. Your comfort, your sense of discovery, satisfying your curiosity, following that vision – that’s important too.
So, I no longer prioritize other people’s experience of my self and my life over my own experience of my self and my life. Like so many of you have sent me time and time again (in love and to much laughter and YASes):
If I am too much, go find less.
I am not too much for me. Things are in flux and yes, my life is chaotic, but it’s because I’m living it fully.
Wishing you the satisfaction of incremental progress towards living your own life fully,
A.Markov
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This was originally sent as a newsletter for Of Pens & Paintbrushes. If you’d like to get this directly in your inbox, you can sign up here, at the Newsletter sign up page.