I’ve been thinking about my recent long pause.
My computer died, and I lost so much material, so many drafts of upcoming posts, so many great photos, just gone. It was hard, and I didn’t want to face it by looking at what was left.
And of course, moving from one city to another, setting up a household, enjoying life and beginnings in our new town. Which is wonderful and beautiful, by the way.
And migod, menopause is fucking with me hard. The depression and anxiety that started last March continue to plague me off and on, migraines come and go, I have hot flashes that aren’t just hot, but prickly, that begin with a flash of irritability and a prickle on my face and neck, like a light bulb snapping on. At least the warning gives me time to rip off my clothes and run outside. I feel pregnant all the time, but I’m almost fifty, so, you know. I’m not.
Only beyond all that are textiles.
I look at my wonderful room full of textures and smells and darling half-starteds, and I don’t want to touch anything. Just want to come inside and take a nap.
I’m frustrated with the “misadventure” part of my tagline. There’s been too much of it. Too much of stuff not working out, not enough success, not enough finished business. Too much of what feels like failure.
It’s embarrassing at some level, and doing it semi-publicly, on the blog, makes it harder.
So I just took that break, and tried not to worry about the blog or the making of anything. I figured I needed the time to think about things, to let next steps marinate in my subconscious.
I know, as someone striving towards art, that I need to fail sometimes. Failing is good for us, we learn from it, we grow, we develop thicker skins, we change our tactics and move on.