I miss my chin this time of year. Bone structure bestows power. At least that’s how I perceive it, because my world flows more smoothly when I’m chiseled and lean. But it’s December, Naughty December. Which means I drank whiskey almost nightly. And took a milligram or two of THC more days than not.
We’ve made it past the hump; I’m already deflating here on the Central Coast of CA for our annual winter trip. You don’t want to hear about my puffy face. You want to hear about why it’s puffy, and what I’ll do about it.
It’s puffy because I hate my life. A version of me hates my life. A very small part of Claire hates her life. How does one “hate their life” when one has quite literally everything they ever wanted and hoped for? I’ve been given more than I wanted or hoped for. You, too? Maybe that’s the issue… There’s too much of everything.
Here’s the deal this time around: if you read my last blog—this ain’t it. Every artist knows the gift of a created thing is first for the creator. The Clairemargit pieces used to encapsulate motherhood, sobriety, grief/suffering, and the Divine into a pill we could all swallow to feel less overwhelmed by the rigors of a Goodhardgood life.
I felt safer to be human when I was writing about how gnarly embodied humanity felt.
I hate my life because I feel alone in my life. Not alone alone, silly. That’s impossible with four wonderful, monstrous kiddos; a saintly husband; a team of loving humans team-ing me up; a solid career, solid colleagues; health, safety, etc. Don’t get me started on the trees, the horizons, the gardens, the sunlight cascading through the living room windows and around the shiny fiddle leaf foliage. God has never felt nearer. I’m the wholest I’ve ever been.
AND: I hate a lot of things about the way it feels to exist in this new world.
Do you?
Art is a taproot sent down by the artist. We’re all just hoping to find pockets of nutrients down in the soil, weaving through terrain until we find a community. A place from which to give and receive—exchange. You’re creating too, you’ve sent curious, thoughtful, hungry roots down. You’re living and building something beautiful! We’re all doing the Goodhardood work, we all want to feel like it matters. You want to give and receive. You want to feel seen and human and safe.
Me, too.
This time around will be different because we’re different. I don’t hear the voices of people who have perfect-awful lives. Bio-hacking & attachment-styles can only take us so far. Where’s the full-frontal view of humanity? So much I should, much less I wonder what happens if…
It’s sloppy out here. And, it’s miraculous.
I’m puffy. Full of inflammation and fire, for now. Lonely and wonderful. What am I going to do about it? Here we go, sending a root down. Gosh I hope we all feel a little more human along the way.
