i do this thing where...

Those who know me well have undoubtedly seen me having intense arguments, debates, discussions with myself, most likely out loud, more often than not when I’m walking down the street in broad daylight. Call it overanalyzing, being stuck in my head, or nothing more than intellectual masturbation, it doesn’t matter; this is one time you will hear me say that the practice of naming is utterly irrelevant. They are conversations that somehow keep me going, that are often the turning points in big, important, lightbulb-type moments in my life. Or at least they feel like they are when I’m deeply involved in such an episode.

But let me backtrack for a moment, and fill in the blanks on some day to day logistics (and, of course, my intellectualizations about them). I finished working on the project I was doing with Triangle last week. For the most part, I felt good about the way the workshops went, and proceeded to spend some days trying very hard to convince myself that it was good for me to very deliberately do an intentionally capitalized Nothing for a bit, while I braved the inbetweenness that inevitably must come before whatever next steps may emerge in my work with the organization. (As a side note, this whole “dating other organizations” thing is a good experience I guess, but confirms my suspicions that I will, in the end, create a domestic partnership with my first love.)

And in this limbo space, I was – still am in certain ways – feeling a bit containerless, like I was wandering aimlessly without a clear context in which to place my purpose here. It’s quite a new and at times strange feeling to be without school, work, a clear cut community to contain me, even if I consistently feel the need to leak out the edges of such containment when I do have it.

But in this particular version of containerlessness and inbetweenness, I have had plenty of time to bury myself deep in my head. I’ve spent the last several days making big decisions about where I’m going and what I’m doing in the next few months slash years slash life, only to completely change my mind and make a very definitive decision the next day that will probably last all of several hours. I was beginning to feel like the poster child for the typical college freshman who changes their major – in thinking if not in paperwork – weekly, or in my case, hourly.

All that aside, I think I’m actually doing pretty well navigating this new space. Yes, it comes with rockiness and frustrating bumps along the way as phone calls and emails go unreturned and meetings are postponed time after time, but I’ll be the first to say that this city in slow motion is actually very good for me.

But so is spinach, of which I eat far too little, exercise, which I do far too infrequently, and calling my mother, which I also could do better at. So my restlessness and acute need to build lactic acid in my brain won out, and culminated in one of those distinct arguing-with-myself-out-loud-while-walking-down-the-street moments a few days ago. The result was a conclusion that I had only two options: 1) I could make something happen, or 2) I could change my ticket and immediately go home. Ok, so I was being a little dramatic, I know. But being the doer - overextended by habit and need - that I am means that art projects and museum hopping and good books could only take me so far.

So I wrote a few more emails and made a few more phone calls and scheduled a few more meetings - this time with a little more conviction and purpose in my tone - which has both calmed me slightly and excited me enormously. I feel like I’ve finally begun to tap into something – albeit possibly only in my own head – that explodes with potential. In an only slightly more rational way than I approached my excessive decision making, I’ve begun to begin. I’m envisioning project upon program that borrows pieces from various organizing efforts I’ve been privileged enough to be exposed to, or even put creative energy into myself. And I don't want to jinx it, but I'm actually getting an email or phone returned here and there. Oh patience...

And here I am, six weeks in, and this feels like the beginning I was waiting for. I had a meeting today with a very smart and experienced individual who I met through one of those small world stories that is undoubtedly meant to be. In between phone calls and physical absences, I began to see this haphazard conversation as another turning point for me, a catalyst that threw me head first into a doorway that I had been knocking on up until now with about as much courage as the lion in The Wizard of Oz. I’m pretty sure that said brilliant individual remains completely unaware of the overactive synapses firing in my brain during this conversation, but that’s completely irrelevant. I’m ok with that.

And then came arguing-with-myself-out-loud-while-walking-down-the-street moment number two. I left with more questions than answers about what is next and why I will place pieces where they may or may not belong, and it’s such a refreshing feeling. I miss this brain massaging that makes me jittery as I connect people, ideas, memories, in my head as a rehearsal for the tangible practice of doing so.

I went to a open mic the other day where somebody asked me, because of how filled I felt afterwards and how much I felt like I missed that sort of creative energy in my life, if I was an artist myself. At the time, I faltered. But now I answer yes, I do need that sort of creative energy in my life because I do think of myself as an artist of sorts, fueled by the creation of projects, workshops, programs, community engagement, that, if we are returning to the practice of naming things properly in order to identify and understand them, would qualify as art in every way possible. So once again, I am beginning: envisioning a tower made of triangle and mango shaped legos and smiling as I imagine what it will sound like when the pieces click together.