It's a Lifestle

Okay, I've absolutely fallen off the “at-least-one-post-a-month” horse. But, then, if you know me – or if you follow me at all, you will have figured out (probably long before I did), that “routine” is not really my thing.

I was chatting (writing) a friend recently – an inspiring friend (it inspired this post) about that. My friend has recently become semi-retired. He calls it retired, but I know him, and he is a creative soul, so I'm calling him semi-retired. He retired from his job, but he will continue to do bits of things he loves to do, and that includes lending a hand here and there at the work he retired from (just doing it when it suits him, and not as the boss anymore.) He was talking about finding his routine. It made me think – it reminded me of that post I put up about my “new routine” of taking the mornings for myself. I seem to have been under the impression that if only I could find the “right” routine, I could stick to it. I could be more like everyone else, more normal, a better fit. I am finally beginning to understand that it isn't me. It never will be. Don't get me wrong, I don't think there is a “normal”, nor do I think there should be. We are all different, we all do things in the way that best suits us. The method of doing anything will change as we change, as the world changes. Some of us have habits or methods that don't serve us well, some are even destructive, and certainly, when and if we become ready to change those ways we will (hopefully) find a way to do that. What I believe about others and the world at large rarely applies to what I believe about myself in the dark corners of my secret heart and head. Like so many others, I hold myself to a different standard. Perhaps the best and stupidest (so maybe funniest?) example of this can be summed up by my highschool self. Leggings had become a fashion. (Like I said, stupidest...) They looked comfortable, most people looked good in them. I had a couple of pairs that I'd wear around the house on occasion, but never outside. I was talking to one of my best friends of the time (though we've lost touch she is still very important to me, and this is part of the reason for that – even then she was smart and wise and caring...) and we were talking about what we would wear when we went out. She suggested an outfit for me that included leggings. I responded with something along the lines of, “I can't wear that.” She asked why on earth not...and I said something about them being great – for other people, but I couldn't wear them. She tilted her head, told me that was ridiculous, I could wear whatever I wanted. She gave me permission to be someone I secretly wanted to be. As small and ridiculous as that is, it was huge for me. It smashed down a wall, opened a hundred doors, told me the voice in my head was wrong. Someone I loved and trusted and admired and wished I could be more like told me I could be who I wanted to be. (Thanks forever Nikki.) I've tried to carry that lesson with me, but it is a hard lesson. A lot of those hundreds of doors didn't stay open as long as I'd have liked, but I got to see the vistas they held. The wall has come back into existence, but it isn't very sturdy or very high, and it has places I can get beyond it every few yards. Having this exchange with Charlie reminded me of that. It swept a dark corner clean and reminded me that for all those times that that voice tells me I should be more normal and fit in, that I should be more like I imagine the rest of the world is (and really, it is just how I imagine them to be, not how they really are necessarily), I get to be the person that I am. It is more than just okay for me to be that person, it is good for me to be that person. I realized in that exchange that the lifestyle I live is better described by the term Curated Chaos. I try to influence the direction, but I rarely know what is coming. I set routines that last for short periods to remind me that things are important, or to stabilize the turbulence to a level where I can stand steady and function, but they are just temporary measures. I don't do well in routine.

I suspect that it is part of what attracted me to theatre in the first place, and to blacksmithing and all the other pursuits I have. It is part of why I'll never be full time at any of them, as much as I want to dedicate myself and improve my skills. I do dedicate myself, in bursts, but it will never become routine for me. I always tried to explain it to my students (regarding theatre.) It isn't a job, it's a lifestyle. It is uncertain, it is always changing, you can't predict anything. The hours are long, and don't work with the rest of the world's 9-5 clock because that's who you are playing to, so you are on to their off. Pay is never certain, and rarely the same week to week, if you get any at all on a given week. Contracts get extended or end early. Cast changes and crew changes happen. Being an independent artisan is no different. There is time or money, but rarely both at once. It is a good idea if you need a guaranteed income to supplement with some little job that is flexible and doesn't kill your soul or creativity. You often have to take work on that is less interesting because you have to pay a bill. You might be doing shows or working at the times your friends and family are celebrating birthdays or holidays. You have to wear a lot of hats to keep your business afloat, and the time you spend making is rarely the largest contribution to your business. You can't predict what's coming, but you can help choose the direction it might come from, or at least the direction it moves you. Curated Chaos. It's a lifestyle, it's my lifestyle. It is the life I've chosen. It has good parts and bad, and I'm going to try to stop making myself be “normal” and celebrate what I've got, because what I've got is good. It's uncertain, it's unpredictable but it's also wonderful and creative and full of surprises.

I'll try to at least stay in the stable with the horse that has me writing more often. If I get called away, I will also try not to berate myself for being me.