There will always be dishes
“If we could realize that the work is to keep doing the work, we would be much more fierce and much more peaceful.”
The messy pile of dirty dishes in the sink calls to me like a siren, trying its darndest to lure me from my notebook. My fingers itch to go to the sink, run hot water, grab my bar of dish soap. An identifiable task to complete. A necessary and worthy task to complete. And, in this case, a distraction from the work.
The creative life is invisible in so many ways, even to myself. No one will come into my house and notice, “You haven’t created anything today!?” No one ever scolds me for not pulling open my computer, typing some rough lines of a first draft, or revising three words to make a poem shine. No one wonders how starved my soul might be from lack of creativity, the oxygen she needs to survive. I can spend an immensely fulfilling hour or two with my work but not have “produced” anything that is remotely ready to be read or to share.
Honoring blocks of time for concentration, honoring silence and rest as part of my work, honoring sitting and reading and enjoying a book of poems, honoring openness in my schedule instead of busyness—these are all ways to value my work. And when I value my work, I value my own, beautiful soul.
I’m working to notice my domestic-sphere “NO” as a “YES” to my creative self. No, I will not vacuum the floor right now because I am imagining a new ending for a poem, and if I set down the threads right now the beads of this idea will scatter out of reach. No, I will not rush to schedule something for our family right now because I am studying a work by an author that makes my engines rev. No, I will not start making dinner just yet because I need to keep tugging this string of words, pulling it along, weaving it into something strong.
I hear the voices in my head arguing back—this is play, not work. Get serious, you will never be a “real” poet, why don’t you get up and get something done! Some days it feels like a lot to argue back against them, to continue to carve a home for my creativity in a culture, both exterior and interior that demands I prove my worth through production.
My new year is revolving around this sentence from Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, “If we could realize that the work is to keep doing the work, we would be much more fierce and much more peaceful.”
Fierce and peaceful?! I love the chaotic, colorful swirl of those two words together. Fierce feels red—defensive, warning of danger—cackles raised, elbows out. I am ready to fight for and defend what is valuable: art and the time needed to create it. Peaceful seems blue—oceanic, open, expansive, serene, calm. I am centered in what I value and open to the transformation that can come from leaning into a love like this. The faithful devotion to the work is a devotion to myself which just might result in some sort of meaningful, messy, beautiful purple explosion. Cool.
Don’t worry dishes, eventually a fiercer more peaceful person will get to you.
