Marcus Lopés

LGTBQIA2S+ Author, Blogger, Runner

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Writing Off the Grid

Getting Unstuck

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Having spent the last three and a half weeks in training, I couldn’t wait to get back to my writing routine. The whole time I was in training (it was intense and demanding), I didn’t write much other than my Morning Pages. I tried to write or edit, but getting up at 4:00 am for a class that started at 7:00 am took more out of me than I had anticipated. When I got home I barely had enough energy to study, and certainly didn’t have the necessary focus to write.

A view of Toronto’s Centre Island when I was out for a run early this morning. Running and writing for me go hand-in-hand.

Now the training is behind me (although my internal clock hasn’t fully adjusted), and writing isn’t coming easily. There’s a certain restlessness hanging over me that I can’t shake. Or maybe it’s that being “away” from my writing so long has me doubting my talent as a writer despite past successes. I’m not sure. What I do know is this: I feel stuck and need to find a way to get moving again.

When I feel stuck, like I have lost my footing, I immediately reach for Julia Cameron’s Walking in This World: The Practical Art of Creativity. You see, for me feeling stuck is icky, like I’ve let myself become a victim. I’m desperate to change my mindset, for a paradigm shift. In reading the first chapter from Cameron’s book this morning, what stuck with me was this: “When we do not act in the direction of our dreams, we are only ‘dreaming.’ […] Dreams coupled with the firm intention to manifest them take on a steely reality. Our dreams come true when we are true to them.”

Out for a coffee this morning, I got caught in the rain. Took some time for self-reflection, which always helps to see things clearly.

I’m afraid. I don’t want to my creativity to plummet, or to get stuck in a rut that I won’t be able to pull myself out of. When that happens, I get so caught up in how I’m not writing that procrastination ends up riding roughshod over me. And then I lose sight of the long view. I focus more on how I’m not doing and what I’m not doing than on what I could be doing.

So on this Sunday morning, I sat down to write this blog post (when I was tempted to kick back and watch — for the umpteenth time — Thor: The Dark World) because I need to begin again. I need to let myself be a beginner. I must simply write and commit to it. I cannot worry about where it will lead me or how it will be received. I must simply write and let what needs to be expressed through me manifest itself. I will begin, here, where I am and with who I am.

It is these words of encouragement, courtesy of Goethe, that I come back to often, and today they are the impetus I need to get moving again: “Whatever you think you can do, or believe you can do, begin it, because action has magic, grace and power in it.”

 

Freestyle Love: An Excerpt

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HE’D BROKEN THE RULES. Not just any rules. His rules. And the “golden rule” at that. He knew as much when he glimpsed the hairy bronze cyclist’s legs in the dining room archway. Fuck! He reached for his half-empty cup of coffee. This isn’t going to end well.

Malachi winced after gulping the lukewarm liquid, returning the black mug to the table with a loud clank. He sat back in his chair and yawned, his mouth open wide and revealing his uneven teeth. Then he flinched. The tall, lean figure stood naked before him with his arms folded across his chest and seemingly unaware, or unconcerned, about his present state of arousal. The morning after was never easy. Why did he think this would be different? Ogling the man’s waist, Malachi felt his cock twitch and then the heat burn in his cheeks. He dropped his head and drew in a deep breath. You know better. You should have been stronger. It only ever ends one way. Badly.

“Do you mind …” The guy’s voice broke off, as if something had unexpectedly lodged in his throat. He made several attempts to clear the blockage but nothing worked.

Malachi levelled his gaze at the man, who now stood with his legs spread slightly apart like a model posing for a photo shoot. Maybe it’s just a dream. I’ll wake up soon and be alone. Like always.

“Do you mind … if I … take a shower?”

“Oh …” Not a dream. Damn! “Sure.” Malachi stood, unable to take his eyes off his guest. The guy unfolded his arms and ran his hands through his dark bed hair, pushed back from his low brow, that darted in a thousand directions. The graceful movements reminded him of their tender and passionate lovemaking, and made the hair on his neck stand up.

He looked down as he left the room to retrieve a towel and facecloth from the hall closet. He returned to the dining room, purposely walking light-footed to go undetected, and locked his gaze on the handsome figure’s pale backside. Oh, God … He swallowed hard, his excitement building again as he remembered, with a mixed sense of pleasure and dread, having had his face between that firm ass for most of the night. You were stupid. Don’t be stupid again. He cleared his throat.

The man spun around, took the linens from Malachi and held them in front of his crotch. “It’s Cole,” he said, sidling his eyes at Malachi. “My name, that is. In case you’ve forgotten.” He took in Malachi’s blank stare, fully aware of its significance. When there was no response, he shrugged and disappeared down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Malachi went into the living room filled with the bright morning sun. It was a day to feel hopeful yet a familiar heaviness pressed down on his chest. He sat down on the worn brown leather sofa and stared blindly at the hardwood floor. That heaviness had him choking back a metallic taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sick or needing to see a doctor. It was the usual side effect as his repulsion lingered the morning after,  like there was something absolutely criminal about sex.

“Criminal,” he said, curbing his urge to laugh. The faint smile disappeared off his face. He liked the thrill of the chase, the way he let himself go wild with a stranger. That was why he hadn’t tried hard to resist Cole’s advances. That was the criminal act. He let a pure animal lust dominate him, which had him lapping up that murky, disheartening world of one-night stands. Criminal, yes, when one-night stands seemingly held the promise of love. But it was one night of unbridled sex that made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the world. It wasn’t as though he’d taken a vow of chastity. He was a man. With needs. So what was the big deal?

The big deal was this. Every time he longed to be touched, to feel loved when he was not, the supposedly meaningless meet-ups for anonymous sex provided comfort. And that didn’t disturb him the way he thought it should. One-night stands were for guys who were afraid of commitment. I’m not like that. I’ll settle down when I meet the right guy. He sighed. He’d never had “meaningless” sex with the guys he’d met. It always created some type of bond, even when he didn’t want it to. Like now. Deep down, he didn’t necessarily believe that to be true. But he’s not the one. I mean, he can’t be. You don’t fall in love with a guy after just one fuck. God, I’m not desperate. One day I’ll fall in love again and be happy. Like before. That metallic taste was back, had him almost gagging as he thought about the last few months and the number of guys he’d brought into his bed. Maybe I can’t commit. Am I still too afraid? He rubbed his eyes. I can do better. I deserve better. With his thirtieth birthday looming, he wanted to do better. He wanted to search out something real, permanent … true.

What am I really looking for? The contradictory nature of his current situation pained him. He’d been “weak,” unable to outrun desire and her mighty grip on him. He wanted to believe he was better than most single men who thrived on the thrill of arousal. Was he a sex addict? No, because he always revelled in the afterglow of energetic lovemaking. Like now. He was weak because he was unwilling to see the possibility before him. Why couldn’t something permanent and true evolve from it? Because the crudeness of one-night stands made their currency short-term, depreciated.

He felt his lips curling into a smile. He had not forgotten Cole’s name. It carried a certain presence and authority that was both attractive and intimidating. A tingling sensation swarmed over his body as he pulled up the image of Cole standing in front of him, naked and insouciant. He loved the way Cole’s short, pointed nose drew attention to the runnel above his thin red lips and the dimple in his chin. God, those eyes! Those narrow blue eyes expressed unremitting desire, hopeful friendship. He could almost feel again the warmth of Cole’s body pressed against his and the joy that swelled within him as they held each other.

For everything he thought about one-night stands, waking up with Cole beside him didn’t summon the outrage he’d expected. Why not? After all, Malachi had ignored the rules that governed one-night stands. His rules. A covenant he’d signed his name to, secured by the whole of his being. That covenant had been broken the moment Cole approached him at Groove, the lone gay bar in Claredon. He introduced himself as Malachi Bishop, breaking the cardinal rule of first names only. He tried to ignore the significance of that because, in his mind, he had no intention of hooking up with Cole or anyone else. He was at Groove because of Shane Martin, his best friend, whose week-long nagging about going out dancing had worn him down. Drinking and dancing to the early morning hours wasn’t his scene. Not anymore. He’d done enough of that during university, suffering through the next-day hangover and piecing together the fragments of memory. Yet there he was reliving those chaotic, sleepless nights of his youth and, surprisingly, having the time of his life.

And Cole … Cole surprised him. He didn’t ply on the platitudes about how beautiful and sexy he was. After the introductions were made, he’d said, “Tell me about your biggest dream and what you’ve done to make it real.” Malachi’s body went rigid. Most guys asked where he was from or complained about the weather before asking what he was “into.” Conversation came easy to them, and Cole made him laugh. His defenses shut down when Cole dragged him onto the dancefloor, their bodies pressed tightly together, as they slow danced to “Take Me to Church.” When they ended up at Malachi’s, again locked in a crushing embrace, it wasn’t having sex that upset him the most. It was that he’d allowed Cole to sleep over. Another rule broken.

He’d always, always, stuck to his rules. Almost immediately after orgasm, he’d shepherd his “guest” out of the condo. No pillow talk. No revealing of unnecessary details about himself. No planning a future hook-up. Sometimes he’d let them catch their breath, clean up a bit or even shower. But as soon as they were dressed, he escorted them to the door, accompanied by an awkward silence. And the scene always played out the same. “Do you have everything?” he’d ask. “Wallet? Keys?” He didn’t want them coming back, didn’t want to face them again. It made it easier to accept the unprecedented role desire played in his life.

He listened. Nothing. He hadn’t noticed that the shower had stopped. He rose from the sofa and made his way to the bedroom. His gaze fell on the sheets and counterpane bunched near the footboard and half hanging off the bed. His throat clenched. He was, one more time, fighting that metallic taste in his mouth. He went over to the bed and frantically started to strip it, as if that would wipe out its history. He’d just stuffed the bedding into the laundry hamper when Cole appeared from the bathroom. Their eyes locked, and it seemed like they were each probing to find some hidden truth. What does he expect me to say? Malachi wondered as he watched Cole pat his dark brown hair that was wet and fell flat against his head. Why do we have to say anything? Why can’t we just walk away? He gestured Cole out of the bedroom, then followed him down the hall and into the foyer.

“This is awkward,” Cole said, stepping into his shoes.

“I don’t think we could expect it to be otherwise.” Malachi waited until Cole had retrieved his black leather jacket from the closet before adding, “Do you have everything?”

“I think so.” Cole smiled and slipped on his jacket. “Actually, I’d … I’d like to see you again.”

Malachi raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not complicate this.”

“Complicate what?”

“Cole …”

“What?” Cole crossed to Malachi. “Did you enjoy last night?”

“That’s not the point.” Malachi’s tone was sharp. He can’t see what’s happening. We’re two grown men trying to romance the notion of love into perfect firsts. The first glances exchanged. The first hellos. That first touch. It doesn’t work. It never does. “Last night was fun. Let’s leave it like that.”

“I don’t get it …” Cole touched his hand to Malachi’s face. “If you thought last night was fun, why don’t you want to see me again?”

“Last night was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Cole, his eyes on fire, withdrew his hand. “Where did that come from?”

“Well, what do you expect?” Malachi stepped around Cole and stood near the living room entryway. “Do you really expect us to fall in love after spending one night together? That we could actually have some type of meaningful relationship?”

“It’s not impossible,” Cole snapped. “It happens all the time.”

“Not with me,” Malachi shot back.

“It could … if you could see beyond the moment.”

“I don’t think you’d like what I see.” Malachi looked down. He thought about the crudeness he associated with one-night stands, and suddenly everything about his current situation felt disgusting and immoral. He wasn’t sure why, but perhaps with any other guy he wouldn’t be making such a big deal about it. He could let sex be sex and not overthink it. Cole was different. He felt that. And his life was complicated enough. He didn’t need Cole adding to the mix. He raised his head, he and Cole staring at each other with wild, lusting eyes. But Malachi, who let logic and reason guide him more than his heart, foresaw that the scene had only one ending. “You should just go.”

“All right.” Cole let out a low, exasperated sigh. As he walked to the door, he reached into an inside pocket, pulled out a taupe-coloured business card and set it on the occasional table next to the closet door. “I’m in town a few more days. If you change your mind, you can reach me at the number on —”

“Oh, I see,” Malachi broke in, shaking his head. Then came the disparaging chuckle. “Seeing me again is less work for you.”

“Malachi, that’s not —”

“Just another quick fuck.”

Cole bristled. “You know what? Just forget it.” He grunted as he pulled open the door. He was about to step into the hall when he turned and looked critically at Malachi. “I thought …” He bit down on his lower lip. “I thought we had a connection. I felt something, but maybe I was wrong. But I don’t … If you … How long do we wait on happiness before it completely escapes us?” He didn’t wait for an answer, rushing into the corridor.

At the sound of the soft thud of the door hitting the metal doorframe, Malachi went over to the sofa and collapsed. His heart was in his throat, his thoughts shifting between images from his past and visions of his future — yet he could not see the paradox of his own world.

Writing is a journey, and I’ve learned a lot over the years. Working with thEditors.com on my first self-published novel, The Flowers Need Watering, taught me a lot about the writing and publishing process. I’ve always loved the story of my first novel, Freestyle Love, but what I learned from my experience with theEditors.com and from reader reviews, I saw how  Freestyle Love could be so much better. So I’ve decided to rewrite it to address its significant editorial shortcomings (plot, character development, syntax, etc.). I’d love for you to tell me what you think.

To read the full chapter, please sign up to the right.

It’s All A Dream, Sort of …

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I’m a daydreamer. Maybe that’s why I love to write and became a writer. It doesn’t matter where I am — in bed, on the train to work, out for a run, anywhere — I can slip into a daydream the way some people can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I get lost in them, and when I’m forced back to reality, I come away breathless and slightly unhinged.

As a daydreamer, I often have grand visions of how my day should unfold, which often stands in stark contrast to reality. As A.S. Akkalon and Gregory Josephs have done in similar posts, today I thought I’d share a day in my writing life — how I envision it versus what actually happens.

05:00 – Alarm (Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me”) Goes Off

The Vision

I reach for my glasses, put them on and then bounce out of the bed. I shower, dress and then make a strong cup of coffee using my stove-top espresso maker.

Reality

I wish I had to, but I don’t need to set an alarm. I’m a light sleeper and a morning person. Because of the irregular hours associated with my day job (I’m a flight attendant), I can wake up naturally any time between 3:00 and 06:30. Some days I like to pretend I’m “normal” and sleep in a little longer. Fifteen minutes later though, I’m usually up and at it. And that coffee … Well, back in October 2016, I gave up caffeine and my morning java (decaffeinated) doesn’t offer much of a kick.

05:35 – 10:00 – At My Desk Writing

The Vision

With my coffee in hand, I start my day writing my Morning Pages, which takes about twenty minutes. Then I move on to the rewrite of a novel, my main writing project. I put in close to four and a half solid hours of writing and feel really good about the day.

Reality

I make the mistake (I do it almost every morning; it’s a habit I struggle to kick) of picking up my cell phone when I get up. So my phone ends up on my desk, and checking e-mail or Twitter can mean that it takes up to an hour to complete my Morning Pages. At the same time, I’m going through a mental list of things I need to do, and instead of writing them down to do later I tackle them in between sentences. I think I’m multitasking, but I’m not.

Then at 07:00 my partner’s alarm goes off. He emerges from the bedroom and turns on the TV to watch Breakfast Television. It’s another distraction I don’t need. When he goes to shower, I hit the mute button and then try to focus. Forty minutes later, he’s out of the bathroom and the TV volume is on again. As much as I love him dearly, I can’t wait to turn off the TV as soon as he’s out the door.

10:00 – 10:30 – Social Media Time

The Vision

I allow myself thirty minutes to check Facebook, Twitter and e-mail. I respond to the most important items and then return to writing. I am strict about this time allotment and don’t surpass it.

Reality

I use the Google Extension StayFocusd to limit my time on social media and news sites. Between 00:00 and 16:00, I allow myself fifty-five minutes on these sites. Most days, that’s more than enough time. But I like to check CNN and end up captivated (or dumbfounded) by what’s happening in Washington, DC. Although I’m not American, it certainly is entertaining and a distraction I try to fight every day.

12:00 – 14:00 – Run and Lunch

The Vision

I get out for a nice, ten-kilometre run. Afterwards, I cool down at home, have lunch and shower again. I feel energized after the run and feel like I’m on top of the world.

Reality

I run, but it’s only four or five kilometres. And it’s been a struggle since February when I caught a cold and haven’t stopped coughing since. I thought the cough would go away on its own but it hasn’t. In mid-April, I finally decided to make an appointment to see my family doctor. Given the strain on our healthcare system, it’s no surprise that I can’t see him until the end of May. After a run, if there aren’t leftovers in the house, I can’t decide what to eat. So I go back online, using up my precious and limited social media time. Or I’ll start laundry and put on one of the Jason Bourne movies that I have saved in our PVR.

14:00 – 17:30 – Dinner Prep

The Vision

I’m organized, so the day before I went to the butcher and grocery store to pick up everything I’d need to make dinner. I begin the prep work for one of Julia Child’s or Martha Stewart’s elaborate recipes.

Reality

This is probably the one part of the day that I don’t really fudge with, unless I’m on a roll writing. I love to cook, and I frequently turn to Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking for inspiration and guidance. When I’m not working the day job, I do spend between three to four hours preparing dinner — and trying to pass off venison and elk as beef, or guinea fowl and partridge as chicken to my partner. I love food and love to eat well. If I left the cooking to my partner, we’d be eating Rice-A-Roni, Lean Cuisine and anything else you can simply take out of a box and add water to.

17:30 – 18:00 – Dinner

The Vision

My partner and I sit down at our dining room table and enjoy our dinner with a nice glass of wine.

Reality

Dining room table? Have you seen the size of condos here in Toronto? A lot of them you can barely turn around in without hitting each other. We don’t have a dining room table, or room for one for that matter. We sit on the sofa and eat dinner, watching City News at the same time.

18:00 – 19:00 – Break Time

The Vision

While my partner cleans up the kitchen (I cook, he cleans!), I sip my wine and watch the news or read.

Reality

Here, the vision is pretty much reality. If I’ve had a productive day of writing, I may do a little more work. Or I may schedule a few tweets. But I usually do take it pretty easy during this time.

19:00 – 20:00 – Reading Time

The Vision

I pull out my kindle, or one of the many paperbacks strewn across the condo, and read. It’s a time for me to catch up on what other indie authors are writing, read more on creativity and marketing, or finally get through a few issues of my GQ subscription.

Reality

At 18:59, my partner and I battle for the TV remote. He wants to watch Entertainment Tonight, I want to put Murder, She Wrote on in the background. He wins. I’m trying to read but it’s so hard when Nancy O’Dell and Kevin Frazier are bringing you the latest exploits of the Kardashians. And really, I don’t care about the Kardashians, but I’m fascinated as to why so many people are. I probably only read a paragraph during the half-hour show and can’t remember what I’ve read. Why do we even care? I ask myself repeatedly about the reports on Abby Lee Miller’s fraud case, Mama June’s weight loss or the worst dressed at the Oscars. And the fact that I can easily call up some of these “celebrity names” scares me just a little. Actually, it scares me a lot.

20:00 – 20:30 – Cool Down

The Vision

I put all my electronic gadgets away, turn off the TV and meditate before bed.

Reality

The TV’s still on, and I’m flipping from channel to channel for something mindless to watch. There’s not much that I’m interested in, so I draw again from the recordings of our PVR and pt on an episode of “Three’s Company.” And I don’t meditate.

20:30 – Lights Out

The Vision

I brush my teeth, crawl into bed and fall fast asleep.

Reality

I brush my teeth, crawl into bed, and toss and turn. It takes me forever to fall asleep because I can’t drown out all those unnameable night noises. But eventually I drift off to sleep, waking up often as those same unnameable night noises poke at me.

The Lesson

Life is a journey. I may not always live out the day as I envision it, but each day I step up to put my best foot forward. That’s all I can ask of myself. I remind myself that whether I write 1,500 words in a day or simply one sentence, it’s still progress.

Never give up. As Henry David Thoreau reminds us: “If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”

Does your day unfold the way you envision it? Are there distractions like social media that derail your efforts? Let me know in the comments section below how you stay on track.

The Importance of Balance

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Monday morning. The beginning of a new week. And, today, the beginning of the month of May. In a way, it’s an opportunity to reboot, to get myself back on track. Or that’s my hope.

I’ve been at my desk for a couple of hours now. With my Morning Pages complete, I begin by tackling one of the top three priorities I’ve set for the day. I’ve decided to work first on my blog. I’ve sat down several times over the past few weeks — here at my desk, in airport lounges, in a hotel room — to write this blog post. Yet I never managed to finish it. That had me asking this question: Why?

Lately, I’ve been struggling — not with procrastination, writer’s block or doubt — but with balance. I’ve been unable to resist the temptation to rush, rush, rush — to let myself be swept up in the hustle and bustle of life. Unable to heed my own advice, I’ve been trying to do it all.

As an artist (in my case, a writer), it’s taken me a long, long time to understand the importance of balance. Growing up the term artist was viewed with skepticism and cynicism. Being an artist was considered an “unsafe” career choice. Expectations had long been set, and I was supposed to follow a career path that would lead to stability. The “Brules,” as Vishen Lakiani explains in his book, The Code of the Extraordinary Mind. So I went to university, first to study journalism before abandoning it for a degree in French Literature. Here, I’ll let you in on a little secret. No matter how hard you try, you can’t outrun who you are. I know. During my university years, I spent most of my free time writing!

Two years after I graduated I moved to Ottawa (Ontario), where I lived for ten years. It was during that time when I understood that I had to, as Queen Latifah put it, “[…] be brave enough to be your (my) true self.” When I did that, I found my voice. My writings were published. My paintings were included in exhibitions. I wasn’t worried about achieving celebrity status. All I knew was that I had to make time for my art, to do what matters most.

While I tried, I was never able to achieve — in both the public and private sectors — the work-life balance needed for me to husband my artistic dreams. The catchphrase at the time, which is still quite popular today, was “work-life balance.” For some companies, “work-life balance” isn’t just a catchphrase. There are tools, policies and mechanisms in place to help employees achieve a balance between their work and personal lives. Other companies simply don’t make the grade.

My mother’s sudden death in 2010 forced me take stock of my life. What did I really want out of life? What did I need to do to move my dreams forward? I had already left Ottawa by this point and was living in Sherbrooke (Quebec). Step one was for me to take some time to “recharge,” strip away all the doubts, fears and anxiety cluttering up my mind. It was a great opportunity for me to focus on my artistic projects. I wrote, painted and composed music. I was having a blast being my true self.

It was also a time when I had to figure out what I wanted to do for a day job since I knew I would have to return to the workforce. I’ve never bought in to the concept that to be a real artist you have to be a full-time artist. As Julia Cameron reminds us in her book, Walking in this World, “The actual truth is we are all full-time artists. Art is a matter of consciousness.” All I knew is that I didn’t want to go back into an office environment because, no matter how hard I tried, working nine to five felt like I was wearing a straitjacket. It took about six months for me to become bored with my position before I would start looking for another job. I would come home exhausted and often put off making art. What was I to do?

In October 2012, and on a whim, I applied to become a flight attendant. I had absolutely no expectations and no idea about what I was getting myself into. But as training progressed, and then after I started flying, it became so clear why this was the job for me. While I’m travelling a lot, there’s still so much flexibility in my schedule that I have time to write. There is, finally, the work-life balance that I’ve sought after for so long that allows me to follow my heart’s desire. I don’t feel overwhelmed, although some days I’m so tired I fall asleep on the train home. I’m having fun with my writing, and I’ve been able to move forward. Earlier this year, I self-published my novel, which would have taken a lot longer had I been stuck in a nine-to-five job.

On this rainy and grey first day of May, I’m reminded that when we find the balance that we need, there seems to be a natural ebb and flow to life. Everything comes together, and joy blossoms in our hearts. It gives us the strength and determination, if only for today, to keep on keeping on.

Warning: “Doing It All” Can Kill

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Preface: I’m sharing this blog post, originally posted 13 May 2016 on my old blog site, because it speaks aptly to where I find myself now. Trying to ‘do it all,’ I’ve been feeling overwhelmed and fatigued. This weekend, I let myself rest, and it did my body and mind good.

****

Maybe “doing it all” won’t kill, but it can definitely maim the spirit, bring you down.

That’s what happened to me.

I just didn’t know it until this morning, waking up to grey skies and damp streets, and feeling a bit humdrum about the day ahead. But by the time I ventured out to drop off my dry cleaning and to grab an early morning coffee Atlas Espresso Bar, the rain had stopped. The blue skies were mainly clear, the sun was shining, the air was warm. The weather had changed so quickly, and my mood along with it.

Ever since my computer crashed last month, I’ve been working to fix my daily routine. In a word: find my focus. I’ve cut out the distractions while I write, i.e., turn the TV off. I’m getting up earlier, around 5:00 am each day, to focus on my most important creative projects when I feel the freshest. I’ve adjusted my attitude, not letting myself be beaten down by my inner critic who was constantly asking me, “What’s the point?” I can say, with a sense of pride, that I’ve been successful at maintaining these “new” work habits for the past month. My productivity has soared. I’ve taken action (hired an editor, set to work on a new website, began learning more about social media, written a strategic plan) hoping to move more confidently in the direction of my dreams. I should feel more confident about my creative journey, right?

Why doesn’t it feel like enough? Why is it that I still feel a sense of disappointment?

Because I’m still trying to do it all.

I’ve been equating increased productivity with success without really taking the time to see if I’m working on the projects that do in fact matter the most. I haven’t really understood that there are trade-offs, and time dedicated to one project/activity cannot be used for another. If I’m going to spend three to five hours in the kitchen every afternoon preparing a homemade meal, then I have to realize – and accept – that maybe it’s going to take a little longer for me to write the first draft of a novel, complete the rewrite of a manuscript, or finish building my website. It’s been that lack of understanding, ignorance even, about the importance and necessity of trade-offs that’s made me feel overwhelmed, like I’m stalled. Oliver Burkeman says it nicely: “[…] we make enormous efforts to ignore the reality of trade-offs – and, as a consequence, deny ourselves the best chance of a maximally fulfilling creative career” (“Stop Trying to ‘Do It All’”). I’ve been trying to rush, rush, rush ahead, letting myself be swept up in the hustle and bustle of life, and to what end?

I’ve been equating increased productivity with success without really taking the time to see if I’m working on the projects that do in fact matter the most.

I remind myself today that it’s not a competition. Thanks to my strategic plan, I know where I want to go and by when I want to get there. I’ll be better served, and so will my writing career, if I focus on a short list of tasks to accomplish each day. I’ll bring the top of my game to each task, hopefully see the progress I’m making, and not feel overwhelmed. I see it now as the best way to weather the storm that is doubt and fear.

Already I’m feeling less overwhelmed, the restlessness beginning to ebb. It really is a matter of perspective. Sometimes, trying to push through the doubt and fear, it’s hard to see clearly the track that has been laid, how far along I’ve actually come. That’s why we can only take life one day at a time and, as artists, show up each day to do what really excites us. Let our passion fuel us, help us to love the moment in which we find ourselves, and give our very best to our work.

That, to me, is happiness.

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Postscript: In February 2017, I discovered the bullet journal system. While I have modified its approach to suit my needs, it has made a huge difference in how I approach my daily tasks. I no longer feel overwhelmed, and by focusing each day on no more than three (3) top priorities, I can actually see the progress I’m making. It’s not just that my productivity has increased, but that I also feel a sense of forward momentum.

 Are you trying to do it all? What strategies do you have in place to help you stay focused on the tasks that matter? And if you end up overwhelmed, what do you do to shake that feeling?

Let me know in the comments section below.