Photographed by Aureole
I fell out of routine, and that was the end of my writing. Since the New Year, I had a daily date with my computer and myself, shutting the door on the worker bees buzzing commands to me. The lists of obligations and emails rattled at the door, but I would turn my head away and tunnel into another place, they were not allowed in. Working is important, exceedingly so, and has been a priority; writing is an art I do independent of any necessity. But one day as an exhaustive artist, I hope to not only use my body and mind to be the voice of other artists, but incorporate my words and movements to express thoughts and feelings of my own. This I do to some extent, but not without fighting the overpowering cries of my immediate affairs. Even as I write this, I feel the pull to open my web browser and return an email, or many.
For weeks, I wrote most days. The door I created to switch from my work obligations, to a place where time was my own, was a small timer on my phone. I placed myself in a setting where I could be without distraction, and determined how much time I would spend before returning to work. Once set, my timer signaled I would not be answering emails or responding to texts. I was not permitted to concern myself with my practically debilitating worry of arriving at a shoot on time. My timer was always set to allow for the appropriate period of time to put away my computer and be on my way with no possibility of tardiness at my next destination. By removing this barrier, I created the space within which I could work.
Considering my fear of being late and the small periods of time with genuine stillness around me, my sessions were frequently short. Occasionally finding enough quiet within myself took the entirety of my allotted writing time, and words would only just begin to flow as my alarm would ring - writing time was over. Sometimes I had time without end, and would stare at a white page. Nothing seemed interesting; thoughts ran in loops saying something and nothing simultaneously. I banged out words, or didn’t. Customarily, I wrote in my private journal. A blog entry was the result of my decision to share my thoughts.
Photographed by Staunton
As I wrote the first line, the irony was not unnoticed. I spoke of a routine, and losing mine, yet my life to an outsider appears completely void of routine. I wander around the United States, zipping from shoot to shoot and sit down in coffee shops sending emails, or huddle in peoples’ homes staring at my computer. The time and place seems without pattern. But within this, I have my reoccurring habits, small as they may be. I have to be flexible in the exact time, but with awareness, I can incorporate a sense of schedule in my daily or weekly existence. By recognizing this, I am able to cling to a sense of custom needed to keep me grounded.
These words I write in this moment, meaning my past tense blog is not fully true. My writing has not ended, but next time you read my words, they will likely not be on this blog. Google has banned “graphic nudity”from the blogs they host, and although I feel the work I use on this blog is different from porn, I will not bother to argue.
I hope I do not lose too many of my followers through the change and invite you to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org to follow me in my journey.