Hold on. Just relax. Because it’s about to get real crystal in the window, dreamcatcher, Shirley MacLaine, spirituality hippy dippy up in here. I’m going to say stuff like “The Universe” and “God” and I might even talk about magic. But I promise it’ll be okay and that you won’t want to vomit. I mean you won’t want to vomit due to what I’ve written but you might vomit because you ate some bad Indian food. I don’t know your life. Anyway, I’m thinking about these things, these topics of beings greater than myself a lot right now and especially how it relates to writing and creativity.
As I was walking this morning at an ungodly hour to go hear alcoholics yammer about their lives, I felt it: a breeze. Breezes are significant to me, believe it or not. (I know, I know. Insert eyeroll.) When I first got sober in Santa Monica, there were these incredible ocean breezes. Breezes so cool and gentle but powerful that you couldn’t help noticing them. Like everything else in the greater Los Angeles area, the breezes were like “Helloooo!!!” As I got to the part of the program-thing I do to stop drinking and hopefully stop being an asshole when I had to pick out a Higher Power, I thought the ocean was a good place to start. After all, it seemed responsible for these punch you in the face breezes and was also enormously vast. The ocean looked a lot like god to me in that moment. Plus on that side of town, it was easy to access and find which was important to me in that particularly fucked up phase in my life. From there on out, the breezes became my higher power’s way of saying, “Hey, boo. What’s up? Stop being ridiculous. Love you. Byeee.” My higher power and this relationship with G-to the-O-to the-D has since expanded. But breezes are still a nice way for us to keep in touch.
This morning’s breeze was no different. It was a little reminder that I was fine. That everything was cool and that I didn’t have to worry about running the show. The breeze and the magical force behind them had this. All of this. Which was fucking fantastic news to receive via the wind as I’ve been up in my own shit as of late. Now, not any more than normal for any alcoholic. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still try to micromanage the outcome of my own life or the lives of people around me. I’ve got a lot of pots currently on the stove right now. I don’t know where all of my finances are coming from or what’s going on in a few relationships or even what my career as a writer holds for me on a daily basis. It’s all an ongoing mystery and as intriguing as that may sound, it’s kind of frustrating for a control freak in remission like myself. Yet this little breeze shows up and reminds me that things are already great and that I’ll always be taken care of.
This all paramount when it comes to being creative. I need all of the outside forces to work in tandem with me to help me finish projects, to help me meet deadlines and to give me the momentum I may not be able to muster on my own. The nature of freelance writing is of the one-man-band variety without the snare drum or snazzy hat that my mind somehow associates with that title. Writing alone is exactly that-alone. There’s no Barbara in accounting to chitchat with over coffee breaks. There’s no snarky inner office email threads to snicker at. It’s just me, the cats and the computer. Whilst I am never afraid of the well drying up and me not having anything to talk about, I do need pushes, pats on the back and gentle nudges. The cats do what they can but they’re on a tight sleep 14 hours a day schedule that cannot be interrupted by my fragile writer bullshit. Therefore, the magic of the Universe comes in handy. By having faith in something bigger than myself, I can keep going. I can take risks that on my own I would never do. I can put myself out there and know I’ll be okay, no matter the outcome. This force, this mystical power, this whatever helps me feel less alone and pushes me to keep going. And for creative people that is half the battle.
They say, and by “they” I mean other hippy dippy spiritual types, that you can’t be in fear and in faith at the same time. To which I often reply to them, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m a multi-tasker! So we’ll see about that.” But they’re right. I know that at the end of the day all of it is a decision. Am I going to decide to feel isolated and solely powered by Sean’s insane ideas or am I going to rely on something else? By now, I know the answer. By now, I know that I have a choice. It all can be miserable, even writing, if I choose to make it so. But it can also be a breeze.