The title of this escapes me
A scale of nothing to accomplishment
You would think that with all this time I’d have racked up newsletters for weeks ahead. Reader, it is mere hours before this newsletter is due to be sent out that I am furiously typing away and trying to weave all my little notes, braindumps and drafts together into something.
I’m finding it hard to be disciplined, is that the right word even? It might be a little too harsh as I’m still getting up every morning and trying hard to throw myself into my day. Either applying for jobs, or as of this week ploughing through some online courses, and obviously, I am swimming like The Little Mermaid down at Brixton Leisure Centre. I’ve been looking for quick wins. I need a sense of accomplishment. As I sit here now and tell you about my week I still feel like I’ve nothing of any particular value.
I am uncomfortable doing nothing. It makes me jittery and on edge. I can’t really ever fully relax. Constantly multitasking. Chasing things down to tick off my to-do list. I actually had a bit of an epiphany on my relentless lists the other day. This is verbatim what I wrote in my notes app as it happened.
Oh my fucking god. A revelation. Walking to the swimming pool on Tuesday. I could hear kids in the playground screaming over the top of my headphones and thought to myself it must be break time. Then I remembered the random timings I used to have at school for break. I think it was something like 10:45-11:20am. POW. This is literally what I do now. Have done for years. I write out daily schedules in my notes app to remember all the things I have or want to do and work to a schedule. My eyes bulged and my mouth cupped my hand as I strode down Brixton Road. Is this something I do not only to maintain a sense of contro, but because the intricately timed schedule reminds me of being a child and being told what to do? Someone else taking responsibility? A false sense of security that at least someone knows what’s going on? Or maybe I’ve now got too much time in my hands to overthink.
Despite having the luxury of time, creatively I’m struggling. So, I’ve been stripping it back to basics. I am leaning back and not forcing myself to be creative, trying my best to remove the pressure on creating anything at all. Instead, I am redirecting my focus and more passively letting myself get inspired. Be it reading or just exploring whatever piques my interest. Inspiration can bury itself, hibernating in your brain for days, weeks or years until the right moment arrives. You might not even realise the things that have inspired you in the past unless they float up to the surface. It all matters.
I’m finding myself drawn to poetry. I wrote so much of my own poetry back in 2017 and 2018 when I was struggling to find a job after university. Poetry gave me validation and a sense of worth and belonging that had been disintegrating within me as the months went by and I fruitlessly looked for a job. I felt lied to. The promise of a shiny career handed to me on a plate after university was not the reality I faced. It took the best part of 6 months of actively searching, hunting and relentlessly applying to land a 4-week temporary role. A job that thankfully became permanent and was in the end, a lifeline. Interesting to think that it’s now, here that poetry is finding its way to me.
Last week I rounded off with a little poem of my own. This week, I’ll share one by someone else. The beautiful words of Thomas Gunn.
The Hug
By Thom Gunn
It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.
I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.