On Transitions and Being In The In-Between
Writing, not writing, and following new curiosities
“Gettin’ nuttin’ for Christmas” played over the speakers as I searched Ace Hardware for a garden augur bit that would make planting dozens of tulip and daffodil bulbs in our garden a bit easier. I did find the bit, but my drill didn’t have enough power, so I was left digging up much of the bed to plant the bulbs. But, this isn’t about bulbs, it’s about transition. And while the US has largely transitioned onto Christmas post-Halloween, I’m not quite there yet. So, too, in my writing (and life) I’m both moving into the new and not-quite-there yet.
If you’re feeling some of that there/not-there feeling, you’re not alone. Here’s how it’s showing up for me in this season:
Exercise and Creative Output (or lack thereof)
Sure we can always do different things with our time, but there’s only so many hours in a day. I’ve made a concerted effort to sleep more over the last few months. I’m still only getting around seven hours per night, but it’s up from the six I was getting earlier this year. While this shift might read as minor on the page, it’s been a major one mentally. I used to think I needed to get up early enough to workout, meditate, and write. That was my rhythm, my discipline. And it required getting up somewhere in the four o’clock hour most days to make it all happen. I haven’t often considered myself a “type a” personality, but maybe this dogged commitment to getting it all done fits the bill.
These days I’m sleeping in until five-thirty, which means I only have time for working out most weekdays. In the past I would have beaten myself up for this “laziness” for not getting more done. And, yes, I realize I could write at night after the girls go to bed, but by then I’m winding down and my creative energy always feels more vibrant and available in the morning. In a couple months, I’ll be completely on my new coaching path and timeline, which will allow a total overhaul of my daily rhythm, and I’m pretty excited to see how that plays out, so for now grace and patience.
Career (& Content?) transition
As I move into this new coaching phase of life, I’ve also been wrestling with the direction of my Substack. It started off mostly documenting my own sobriety journey and the learnings I’ve gleaned through that lens. I will still be writing about sobriety because it’s such a big part of my life and when you go from doing something heavily to removing it from your life (even as a lot of the world still does a lot of it), it’s hard for that not to be a topic of conversation.
I’m also curious about the other meaning of “Gone Dry.” Sure, it can mean not drinking alcohol anymore. But it can also mean spiritually or losing a sense of meaning of purpose, maybe even of getting out of alignment internally, of losing the eros/desire/energy that kept you feeling alive and vibrant in the past. That was absolutely true of my own journey the past few years. I lost my spark. And a lot of that “spark” was related to trying to live life on other people’s terms or doing things I thought I should do and wondering why I wasn’t happy.
As I play with new ways of being in the world and stepping away from fawning (or deferring to folks around me just to keep the peace or play small), I’m finding a new trust in myself and my desires. Getting curious about what I want and am interested in and exploring those curiosities. Again, that might seem small, but I promise you, dear reader, it has been nothing short of life changing.
Sacred, meaning, and connection
Speaking of life changing, I’ve also been exploring and seeking on the spiritual-religious side of things. This isn’t new in my life, but it is newer in the sense that it’s ranging beyond the Christian context I lived for the first thirty-six years of my life. It could still include that context, and maybe it will come around to that, but for now, I’ve been very curious about meditation, Buddhist philosophy, spirituality generally, astrology, tantra, sexuality, and other ways of making sense of our place in this thing called life.
On that last topic, sex, I’ve had a lot of curiosity lately. No matter your theology, or lack thereof, you’re reading this piece as a result of sex. And while some corners of the internet might have more of it, most of the physical places I’ve been have shied away from the topic. Even though sex is a creative drive most of us have, we don’t talk about it much beyond jokes in movies or locker room humor level conversations. And we wonder why we have such unfulfilling sex lives. If you’re uncomfortable reading this, I get it. I’m not going there, at least not now, but I do have a lot of curiosity around why we’ve taken something that is so filled with pleasure and banished it from our consciousness. We assume people just know how to do it without any instruction, as if we didn’t all have to go through a process of potty training at some (hopefully distant) point in our lives.
And on the pleasure piece, I would wager that if we had more pleasureful and connective sex and less drinking, we might have a better overall world. I have no data to back this up, but it’s a decent working hypothesis. Yeah, there are many ways sex can be used negatively, but the same is true for lifting weights: you can use those newfound muscles for violence or you could build a treehouse for your kids or grandkids to play in.
Alright, that’s probably more than you bargained for when you opened this post, so if you made it this far, thanks for hanging in there. And I’m curious: what are you curious about lately? What strings of curiosity are you pursuing? Are they in line with past questions and interests or are you foraying into new territory? I’d love to know where you are at this moment in your life. Feel free to drop it in the comments, and I know the comments can feel too public, so feel free to drop me a direct message, too.
A poem for loss
I’ll leave you with a poem written after the unexpected death of a friend from college. A painful moment and also proof that I still have desire to write, even poetry.
I didn’t know you were gone
I didn’t know you were gone When I sat in the sun-warmed sand, Watching my breath, watching the waves Content. Native to the shoe I was unaware had already dropped. Sea breeze swirled softly, Foreshadowing salty tears that would streak my face. I didn’t know you were gone, When I stepped into the surf Cool water rushing up my legs. Turning to miss the brunt of each crest, Continuing deeper through each trough, Never sure when I would make it beyond the break, When the waves would subside. In the ocean, I could see them coming. When I first heard, it was a trough, The lack of feeling, of knowing I should feel. Later, hit by a wave of tears as I ironed a shirt, Another trough and then a wave this morning as I sat, meditating. Maybe the pain of grief is we can never know when it subsides, Never know we are beyond the steady cadence of crest and trough near the shore. Maybe we never make it out of grief. I didn’t know you were gone. As I stared over the vast expanse of open ocean. How insignificant a single life can be in this grand scope. And yet, how significant a single loss can feel. I didn’t know you were gone.
I don’t think I’ll ever tire of reading your beautiful poem. Thank you, Josh. What a gift.