some thoughts on having and doing

with plenty on the horizon, my attention is turned to the kind of person i’d potentially like to become. i’m positioned to explore all of the realms i identify with and am fascinated by: the worlds of clowning, of anthropology, of writing, of counselling, of printed matter, of music, of interactive media, etc, etc. how does passion, in all its intangibility and potency, manifest?

i am interested in the relationship between the material and the immaterial. for example, the cultural and semantic coding that exists in an Instagram photo of an incredible Vancouver view, or someone’s workspace at a trendy café. there are links between what we represent in photos and the symbolic realm of identity and self-representation. often the material things exist as manifestations of the immaterial, for example, the pumpkin spice latté in all its infamous eminence, is a symbol of fall, of coziness, and it draws direct links to things like chunky-knit sweaters and books and warmth in the midst of cold. i won’t get into the more mocking or parodic symbols. but i feel like i’m in the process of working backwards, in that i am unsure of my immaterial environment so i look for physical objects that will lead into desirable immaterial realms – i bought a net grocery bag, like Monica has in the earliest seasons of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, because it’s reminiscent of farmers’ markets, of the delightful, humble craft of cooking for oneself, of making a home, of having the wherewithal to grab groceries between work and home. i am looking for something in having this bag. i am looking to evoke in myself that sense of home, or to acquire some of the charm of a quirky french woman.

and so, what is the material anchor to my immaterial hunger, thirst, drive, urge to clown, or to write, or to study? for my classes, it is my books, my notes, my laptop when i am writing essays. for writing, it is also my laptop. for clowning, what is it, besides the new tattoo on the back of my arm? perhaps the floor of the rehearsal space, or my own body. i want habits and items that reinforce this immaterial space of writing turns, habits and items that tether me to the unseen world of creating something.

this summer will make me or be my death (in the face)

in theory, this summer sounded like it would be the time the rubber finally met the road. productive, engaging. i would work hard and be exhausted, but happy.

in practice, those things could still be true. but i am struggling to balance under the weight of this incredible bounty. in four days i move into my next living situation. high risk, high reward. and then it’s go time.

i just wanted to write and say that i’m terrified of what i’ve gotten myself into. everyone’s asked about my choices with a light tone and a cocked head, like, “i don’t mean to be rude, but – is that… humanly possible? are you not kidding yourself?” and, let’s be real, they’re probably right. i’m probably mucking up the math of what a single human can apply herself to in three months.

but i’m also really excited. and maybe i’ll have a day here and there where i’ll be unable to get out of bed for being so emotionally wrung dry, but i have given myself the gift of being positioned to finally embody all that i want to. there was a huge gap between how i was living, and how i wanted to live. now  that i’ve closed that gap, i’m standing right in front of the lifestyle* i’ve been (very) vocally pining after for the last few years – and now i am charged with the task of getting what i want. who would’ve thought that manifesting the projections of what you desire would be so difficult?


*the concept of curating one’s lifestyle maybe seems wanky, but i promise it’s something we’ll talk about another time.

it’s finally time

i try not to post too much about “things that are going to happen”, because most of the time that simply means “things that i’d like to see happen”. i make empty promises because it feels good, but i don’t always acquiesce that i’ll have to be the one to put the work in. i delegate to a future self that i don’t anticipate becoming. i write eloquently and masturbatorily about procrastinating instead of getting to the point.

i feel more comfortable writing this post because i’ve already done a chunk of the work. i read somewhere that you should make shit first and then tell people, which made me feel a sharp pang of defensiveness. obviously this strongly indicated i was guilty of crying wolf, time and again.

well, here you are. concrete evidence that i’ve done something. proof that i’ve been productive at least today. publishing. boom.