Not Insignificant

I've been resisting writing for some reason. I have things to write about, topics I'm thinking on, but even this post is really hard to just spit out.

Partly, I'm consumed with work from sun up to sun down and so the energy, the creative energy isn't there. But in part, the creative energy seems to be taking a nosedive into hibernation while my "competent producer" self seems to be taking over. I wish they could exist at the same time.

I'm probably, truth be told, far more of a producer than performer. I get "how to get things done", marketing, systems and so forth. But it never seems as important as the art, even though I can't really claim "artist" as a title. I'm too linear, too narrative, too type A.

My father had the same issues. His career swayed between the artist/producer poles and after reading his journals I feel that he was tortured by that swing. I get that.


I was recently given some great praise by someone who doesn't know me all that well, the context of which had to do with someone claiming that I'd "blossomed" in the last year. And I wanted to say...damn. It's true, because those other years I was compromised by the last few years with my mom? I brought her up, and said yeah, I think it was only possible to "maintain" during those years, and in fact, any of the success I may have achieved during that period was accrued at great personal cost, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul because she left me with nothing really.

And frankly, I would say that given the stress..that I didn't lose my job, or get a divorce, or develop some kind of pill addiction and instead managed to build programs, produce festivals and entertain people is beyond expectations. I'm a hero, a warrior, tougher than I ever expected, while still not being sure I can claim that status.

I have blossomed, because my mother is fully in a nursing home and not throwing things at me or trying to escape and I'm literally not bearing that same level of burden as even a year ago. My children are older and don't need me to constantly (literally) feed them. Really, they actually can feed themselves and you have no idea how that shifts the reality of who I am and what I get to keep for myself.

I recently talked with someone who also lost her mother to the big A (something I hadn't known prior to this convo), and when I told her about my mom she paused and gasped and said....oh, I'm so sorry you are going through that. It is not an insignificant stress. I could see that recognition and truth in her normally merry eyes, like a shadow.

And it's really not insignificant at all.

Maybe I'll be able to pay myself back over the next few years, moreso as my mother diminishes, moreso as my children grow. And I'll have excess to give, to create with, to offer.

I'm aware it's a very fine balance right now.