Well, look who’s back (ahem, it’s me). It’s gonna be awkward if I don’t say this at the top—I am so sorry I deserted you! I took an unintentional hiatus from my beloved little newsletter baby, and I’ve been kind of a bad mom. Sorry, kid. I’m here now, and that counts for something, no? Also, I noticed quite a few new subscribers trickle in lately, so thank you for being here!
I could wax eloquent about how I’ve been busy, I’ve had “so much going on!”, or how I’ve simply been too slammed to write, but if I’m being entirely truthful, I’ve been pretty uninspired.
As a creative person, it feels a bit shameful to admit. People tend to assume that creative types have this mysterious, ever-flowing well of magical inspiration they can dip into any time they need. As much as I wish that were true, I find a more accurate metaphor for creativity is, well, poaching an egg. You must have the elusive combination of a mini whirlpool of boiling-but-not-too-much water, fresh eggs, immaculate timing, and maybe even a little white vinegar just to get a B-grade eggs benny. If even one element goes awry, it’s a soft scramble for you.
Instead of beating myself up for not keeping up with my goals as consistently as I’d like to, I’m deciding to approach it with curiosity instead. When I zoom out to try and identify any motifs from the past few months, I also have a “That’s so Raven” style flashback to myself as an unathletic little kid living on the border of Mexico.
I remember, on more than one occasion, desperately pleading with my P.E. coach for an ibuprofen, a 5-minute break, or even some sympathy (Ms. Hill was no joke) because my poor body was just throbbing with growing pains any time she made us run laps under the South Texas sun. I remember the feeling so viscerally. As someone who is clumsy by nature, I’ve had my fair share of broken bones, sprained this and that, and trips to the nurse, but there’s something I remember about this specific pain that just felt so all-consuming.
Undoubtedly, these past few months have morphed into an emotional and situational season of growing pains. Call it what you want—a Saturn return-flavored reckoning or maybe just the joys of being 28, but lately, I’ve been uncomfortable.
I’ve been navigating changing dynamics and hard conversations with my closest friends, expectations and demands of a new job, a transition to a new home by myself, and even more that I can’t recall. At times, it has been extremely lonely and demotivating (and a stealthy killer of creativity). But you know what? Even through the most challenging bits, it has been clear as day that this season has been for my benefit.
Now, if you’ve been on this existential ride with me for a while, then you know that I’m not a “everything happens for a reason” kind of girl. Sometimes shit just doesn’t make sense, and I’m okay with that. This isn’t one of those situations.
The way I see it, when you’re in the middle of the recurring intrusive thought del día that is “does everything happen for a reason?”, it’s because you can’t seem to see two feet in front of you. In all the weirdness and nuance of the past few months, there has always been a well-lit road in my eyeline.
Through all of my friendship struggles, it was obvious that they were guiding me to focus on enjoying solitude, something I used to pride myself in and have recently lacked. When work caused my insecurity to bubble to the surface, it gave me space to step up to a higher level. This has been difficult but welcome after a few years of jobs that haven’t really challenged my skill set. Each time I have spent money on my home, I have invested in something that I know is instrumental to my comfort, peace, and even the regulation of my nervous system. A lot to deal with? Sure. Good for me? 100%.
I wouldn’t wish away those painful P.E. days to stay stuck in my Little Sawyer™ body and never experience the joy of becoming the person I am now. The only way out isn’t through, but sometimes the best way out is. So, 2023 me is going to take whatever the emotional equivalent of an ibuprofen is and keep it moving. Clear skies ahead.
If you’ve made it this far, you’re a real one. The fact that you read my writing means the world to me. “Are you mad at me?” is a free publication, but, let’s be honest, I’m a working gal! If you’re so inclined to show the love via a pledge or paid subscription, I’ll name my firstborn after you. If not, sharing is free!
I love reading your blogs and getting a better understanding of your mind. So proud of the young woman you are. Enjoy the journey.