I’ve been in a pretty negative funk lately. It’s not an uncommon phase. And occurs when I’m ‘in between’ things. Between projects and brewing what’s next. It’s an uncertain time and I am pretty hard on myself in these phases.
Looking back, these are times when I steep in feeling crappy about something, but that something leads me to figuring out my next steps. So it’s kind of like a winter. Just cold and sad and brutal, until I’m ready to… oh God, I’m going to make a pun: spring into action.
I was just washing some dishes, realizing that I think that people I deem to be successful don’t have these feelings. That they don’t experience negative emotions.
An Aha! moment.
There it is. I make myself feel incredibly bad for wintering, being in winter, because I believe it stems from my being a failure / unsuccessful. As though if I were truly successful, I’d never have winters. I’d just be working and producing, all the time, never needing to stop, never having these dead dull frosty-ass slumps. (hehe, Ass slumps)
There it is. I make myself feel bad for being seasonal. Of course I’m going to have winters. And winters are not my favorite season. But my creative winters allow me to rest, kill off the bad ideas and distractions, really brew in what is bothering me most i.e. what’s missing in my life i.e. what I’m going to fix next i.e. the direction I’m going to head i.e. what I’m going to apply myself to / work on / create / produce / study / research / etc.
And the reason I associate myself as being a failure during winter is because I think all of these people I consider successful, do not winter. They’re just in a 24/7 tropical paradise where sunburn does not exist.
Anyhow, this new realization is liberating. That means, I am in winter, and it’s okay that I don’t like it, but it’s normal, and doesn’t mean I suck. Hooray!
I am also joining this with my recent realizations on my dead-end pursuit of perfection. Combining these thoughts, I see that it’s totally possibly for me to make what I want to see (write what I want to read, etc.), that I can keep pushing my projects forward, but that it’s okay that I’m experiencing all of this frustration and will-I-ever?-ness, because, well, ’tis the season.
I’m in creative hibernation, baby. And having dreams is not just rainbows and cotton candy. It’s a Frankenstein business. I’m sawing and sewing myself into reality here. It’s ugly and scary as hell.
Now I can be miserable in relative peace.
