WHAT NOW?

I woke up early, which is the norm of late. Around six each morning, I just wake up. It was the time my alarm would go off in the time before Covid. Maybe my body is in denial, and thinks if I just get up at the same time, things will go back to how they were before. Like "before" was some perfect place where we all got along, money wasn't an issue, and everyone had perfect health. I know that's not so, but it is tempting to think so. The past is always a bit rosy, isn't it? This morning, I feel a strange emptiness, a sense of "I have no idea what will happen next". And I think that is a good thing. Most times, when I think I know what's going to happen, I get kicked in the head. So maybe not knowing is the ideal, the place to strive for. If it is, mission accomplished. I've made it. If not...

I realized this morning that I haven't been reading as much as I like. I listen to tons of music, have written a full draft of a new screenplay, meditated, taken long walks each morning, and done this blog every day since the shut down began. But I haven't been reading enough. And I am not sure why. I have a stack of books on my dresser waiting or me. The stack isn't new. I always have a stack of books to read. Short stories, non-fiction, and novels. Maybe a graphic novel here and there, a book of poetry. I have read some poems during all this, but not as much of those either. I am going to try and change that. I have always found comfort in books. Not just the joy of going to some other land or time, which is certainly there. But also hearing how someone else has experienced the world. How they see things, as expressed through the stories they tell. I need that. Why haven't I gone there? I like to think I am finding things in myself and the world I missed before all this. Appreciating life more, reflecting more and all that. I say hi to more strangers as we walk. I have called a ton of people I haven't called in forever. I take more time to notice nature. And yet, I feel a gnawing sense of missing something. Of there being something I am supposed to be doing that I am not doing. Should I be marching? Should I be writing even more?

Or is this just a bit of ennui, a slight touch of anxiety brought on the life? Am I just tired because we stayed up later than normal? Probably I am reading too much into this feeling. But it's there, and so I ponder.

Wait. I know what it is. I just finished the screenplay. Whenever I finish a script, or a show, I find my self having a bit of the blues. There is a great feeling of purpose when doing a large artistic undertaking. You lean in, all your thoughts, when not doing the daily routine things like cleaning house, cooking food, and paying bills, goes into the work. It's a struggle, and at times frustrating. But it also gives you focus. A goal. And then, in an instant, the work is done. And this great emptiness appears. And it really doesn't go away until the next project.

So. On to the next project. Read more. Continue to call more folks I have been meaning to. Lean into this life. Stay involved. Active. Open to what comes down the pike. No shortage of things to do. The whole world needs help, doesn't it? So help. Write. March. Read. Sing. Love.


Here's a song.  I don't know why, but it popped into my head. It's Leave It by Yes.