It's a crazy kind of world right now. Crazy.

I last wrote in April. It is now May (just two days away from June). We are still doing social distancing due to the Covid19 pandemic that has taken over our world this year. But we slowly . . .   slowly . . . are moving back to some sort of normal living. Or, I guess I should say towards a new way of living. A new normal.

And I think I am afraid.

I mean, I am ready for it. Of course. Aren't we all? But there is a strange comfort that has taken over in the past two months. And the future is still this crazy land of unknowing. A land of unclear circumstances and a different world than it was 3 months ago. Boy oh boy - is it ever.

Phil is still on reduced hours and salary. Working only two days a week and receiving 40% of his pay. It has been a really difficult time for him. Anxiety is high. Patience is low. Being unclear on the future of your career is a pretty scary scenario. He has found a few projects here or there around the house to work on during this time, and I absolutely love when I hear him say that it is the first time in a long while that he has been able to enjoy our yard (he usually travels heavily during the summer and fall months). So, all these things are the positive to life during a pandemic. But still, the worry over finances, our stability and his emotional stability is heavy.

And the lack of control. That is the hardest thing.

I have thrown myself into art. Creating. Things to sell. Doodles to draw. Journals to create. Classes to plan. Art to make. I sit in the living room and face out the front window of our house, and stare at our strategically placed bird feeders and all the birds who visit, then look down and focus everything I have on the project on my table. I have found a rhythm to the work I am doing, and find a great deal of peace in it. And have managed, quite often during these times of creating, to alienate myself from everything happening around me. That last part is probably not the best thing for me or my family. But I feel right now, as if it is the only thing that I can control.

Because lack of control sucks.

I kind of had an epiphany this morning. I sat at my art table, looking out the window while working hard at completing another journal that I could sell on Etsy, and thought about Phil, who was on a bike ride at that moment. I thought how nice it would be to be outside. Yet something inside of me told me that I have to keep working. Keep creating. Keep making things to sell. Keep going. Onward. Then I realized why I have been doing this - pushing myself and not allowing myself time to enjoy simple things like a walk outside or time in my backyard.

It is because I feel like I have lost all control. And continuing to make art . . . that is the only thing I can control right now.

I started to think back - to really think about how long I have felt this way . . . this lack of control.

I think it all started when Laura got sick.

Crazy, you know? How much life changed when that happened. And how EVERYTHING changed. EVERYTHING.

I can't help but remember that when she got sick, it was the first time I (or we) couldn't fix something. I lost control. Completely and totally. Of everything.

And I feel like I haven't had it back since then.

Of course, there are times and circumstances when I have. But in my heart . . . and I guess in my head, too, I feel like since she got sick, I have been just going through the motions of life without much say and with absolutely no control. I have just been doing what needed to get done, just because I was supposed to. The truth is - while going through all those motions of things that need to get done, I have been in a fog.

When Covid19 hit . . . that was a whole other cluster fuck (sorry. . . that is the only word that came into my mind right now.) And once again, control . . . the little bit I managed to develop since Laura's passing . . . was again gone.


So, I have thrown myself into trying to save my business. I have thrown myself into every little part of art that I can. I have avoided the hard conversations and avoided the stress and avoided a lot of things . . . and I have tried to be gentle on myself, going through the motions of whatever this is right now.

It's not easy, you know?

But I believe and have faith that some day soon, I will make it out of this fog.

It is golden hour right now and my sunflowers are about a foot tall. They look so happy facing the sunshine, patiently waiting for their time to bloom. I am waiting for my time, too. . . for the sunshine to hit me and for my lungs to fill up with air and that amazing exhale to come and to feel, finally, like I am out of the fog.

It will happen. I just have no idea when.

Wishing you peace, dear friends.
xo xo


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