Sometimes my big self comforts my little self in this time of f#cking chaos. My big self is okay with my little self using profanity.
The big cat is the one who is huge with compassion, reassurance, and comfort, like an emotional beanbag chair or the archetype of a fairy God-therapist who says all the right affirming things but doesn’t charge for it
The little cat is my small, bewildered self, the part of me that is sure the universe, at least in terms of those running the country, has lost its mind. She’s made of fear, tears, anger, and at least three half-finished cupcakes (she doesn’t eat the icing).
The world is those wild greens and yellows in the background: layered, textured, and out of control. It’s one more ingredient in the ongoing stress storm of PTSD for many of us, actually, it’s not PTS anymore because it’s not post. It’s TSD -constantly. The news keeps blowing whistles. If we don’t let our nervous system clock out every once in awhile, our enjoyment of our short time on the planet will be stolen.
And then there’s the purple floor. That’s the space we make anyway. That’s the territory we claim with brushstrokes and sentences. Writing and art become fuel for the big self. Every mark, messy paragraph, strange color choice says, “I’m still here. I’m still making something. And I enjoy it.” And our big selves grow stronger on that. Wider. More able to hold what the little self needs.
The purple floor is where these two selves stand together anyway, creating a small, calm territory in the middle of all that color and noise.
My big self doesn’t try to fix or silence my little self. She doesn’t say, “Be nice,” or “Get over it.” She says, “Bring all of it. The fear, the swearing, the creative recklessness. We’ll turn it into something or we’ll just let it be.”
And that’s the alchemy. The chaos doesn’t disappear. Nothing seems to work to shift this regime. But any part of our lives that feels uncomfortable can be metabolized, into paint, words, movement, something that can be held, seen, and shared. Something that feeds the part of us that relocates into resilience.
Because in this time of f#cking chaos, the goal isn’t to be graceful all the time. The goal is to let our big selves and our little selves meet, one offering comfort, the other offering authenticity, and both witnessing trust that grows one nose kiss, one wildly human creation at a time.
And also knowing, we aren’t alone in this traumatic time. If you’ve read this far, you’re in the tribe.
“A good half of the art of living is resilience.” ~ Alain de Botton
I’m sharing a video postcard tomorrow for paid subscribers with writing prompts and goodies.
Sneaking in the Backdoor of Prose and Poetry
Join me in an on-line writing class in August through San Diego’s Writer’s Ink. Come discover some ways that make writing easier.
More information here.
We create our own universe when we write.
“Being able to communicate through writing is sorcery. Little scratches on a page or screen, delivering knowledge and emotion and mystery — it’s astonishing.” -Susan Orlean
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