Tag Archives: survival

Survival is a Creative Act

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I feel better today. Spiritually. Psychically. I attribute this to watching “American Symphony” with the incredible Jon Batiste. What he and his wife, Suleika Jaouad, share in this documentary is encapsulated by the line, “Survival is a creative act.”

I’m going to write that on post-it-notes and big banners and stick them all around my home because I have a lot to survive in 2024. I was not feeling good about it. Not too much optimism. And then this phrase pops up in my life exactly when I need it.

Batiste talks about how art finds its way to us when we need it in his speech at the Grammy Awards for best album in 2022. It’s magic. (As is the incredible coat he is wearing.) Sean Thomas Dougherty writes something like this in his poem, “Why Bother?” from his book The Second O of Sorrow. Why bother writing? “Because right now there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.”

Survival is a creative act. I looked the phrase up. Ocean Vuong said it in an interview with the CBC. I didn’t look any further. The funny thing is, I’m pretty sure I read that interview before, but the phrase didn’t stick then like it does now. Now is when I need it. And like magic, it found its way to me again.

For a lot of my life, surviving was something I did “on the side.” Then I would rejoin my life in progress. Whatever difficult thing was happening always felt like an interruption. Now I realize it is the main event. It feels good to bring it front and centre. Jon Kabat-Zinn talks about this in his book Full Catastrophe Living. Life is the full catastrophe. Every day. I first read this book when I was about thirty. So I’ve known this for a long time. But it is with me now on a deeper level.

American Symphony mentions Suleika Jaouad’s bestselling book, Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted. Both Batiste and Jaouad are at peaks of creative success when Jaouad has a relapse of the leukemia she describes in her book. What strikes me is the subtitle of her book and the idea of “interruption.” To be clear, I have not read this book, although by all accounts it is excellent. (I don’t read cancer narratives anymore. They bring back too many bad memories.) But this idea that our lives are “interrupted” by illness and other problems we have to solve is one I reject now. Maybe Jaouad does too, but again, I haven’t read her book. If you’ve read it, let me know.

Survival is not a side-hustle. It’s not something we do until we can rejoin our regular life in progress. Our life is whatever is happening. Cancer. Failing hearts. The deaths of our parents, our friends, our dogs. Divorces. Floods and fires. War. Genocide (as victim or witness). A global pandemic. Climate catastrophe. And through it all, our survival is a creative act. It is our life’s work. And to survive while acting with grace and the golden rule at top of mind is a life well lived. This is something I know to be true.

For those following my heart story, I still don’t have a date for the big surgery, but I have reason to believe it will happen before the end of March. I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, whatever you are surviving at this very moment, it is a creative act. Honour it.

Finding Joy Even Though Winter is Coming

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Not to be all “Game of Thrones” or anything, but winter really is coming. It is unlikely there will be dragons, but if 2020 has taught us anything, there will be SOMETHING. I’m hoping it won’t be another four years of the orange menace, and certainly not another four years of the pandemic. I’m weary of them both. Weary and wary. Wary of my weariness. Weary of my wariness. I’d like to go through 24 hours without thinking something is out to do us all in.

Do you have a plan to get through the winter? Something you are doing to help you find joy? I do and I’m sharing. Maybe it will give you ideas.

  1. I’m being rigid about my schedule. It’s not a fancy schedule and includes blocks of time for exercise, work, and food prep. Yes, food prep. We’ve got to keep our strength up and eat well. And delicious food is still something that brings me joy, even if I have to make it myself (which also explains the exercise block.) If I keep my activities in specific blocks, I keep some variety in my day. I can’t work all the time anymore like I used to, (brain injury) and that’s a good thing. But I think a lot of people newly working from home are reporting that they work ALL THE TIME. Let yourself stop and move on to something else.
  2. I get up early and go to bed early.
  3. I meditate every day. I’ve been meditating for decades, but never with this much dedication. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.
  4. I have stopped drinking alcohol. I actually stopped a long time ago, (brain injury), but I think it is worth mentioning. It’s a depressant. I miss it sometimes, but I have more joy without it. Sometimes, I take a sip of my husband’s drink if it is a really nice smelling wine or a good bourbon. Just a sip. Although it was hard while there were still opportunities for social interaction, it’s not hard now. If you’ve been thinking about it, maybe this is a good time to experiment. Maybe it will bring you joy.
  5. I have cleaned my closet, sock drawer, etc., and edited out worn, horrible or ill-fitting clothes. Again, they are a depressant, at least to me. If I can’t wear that thing I used to slob around in on the rare days I slobbed around, I won’t wear it. I have to choose something better, and I feel better.
  6. I go for a walk every day. My longest regular walk is about 8.5 km and my shortest is to the store and back (about 15 minutes). No matter what, I get outside. I think about what I’m seeing. I look for beauty. A bird, the changing leaves, someone in a nice coat. It’s there. Pay attention.
  7. I try to be helpful to others. I check in with people who are alone. I drop baking off with a neighbour. I write cards and send them to people. This is one of my favourites. It involves several enjoyable steps. a) I have to order cards from a stationery store. I love stationery stores, even on line. My favourite is The Regional Assembly of Text in East Vancouver. I have one closer to me that I really like too, called Take Note, in the Junction. Since I don’t physically go to many stores anymore, it doesn’t matter where a store is. But I try to buy from independent retailers. b) I have to go through my address book and think about everyone and who I haven’t been in contact with lately. c) I have to compose something lively and smart. (It’s a goal, anyway.) It makes me feel better and I love thinking of them receiving the card in the mail, opening it and laughing. d) I have to walk to the post box. (see 6.)
  8. I have projects unrelated to work. For example, early in the pandemic, I dug up everything I have related to knitting. I found half finished mittens, a sweater I started in 1996, and more wool than I imagined I had. So I’m knitting. I’m thinking about breaking into crochet. I have an idea of taking a beautiful landscape photograph, using the app “Bricks” to pixelate it, (Bricks makes everything look like it is made out of Lego) and creating a colour blocked pattern so I can crochet one small square at a time and not get overwhelmed. Then I could put it together like a quilt. If that half a sweater I dug up is any indication, I might finish it by 2040. Crazy as it seems, looking ahead on a project like that makes me feel better. There is a future.
  9. I haven’t given up on getting better from my brain injury. While I think I’ve run my course with what professionals can do to help me, they say time heals. And I have time, all the gods and goddesses willing, and I notice small, incremental improvements, especially in my balance (see #1 and exercise). And these improvements bring me joy. Is there something you can work on improving in your life?
  10. I limit my intake of news and social media. It’s too much. But at least weekly, I take positive action on a change I want to see in the world. I write a politician, I sign a petition, I learn more about a problem that seems insurmountable, not from the news but from a longform article or book or documentary, and I find reasons for hope and learn about other actions I can take.

Happy Winter! It’s going to be ok. This does not have to be the winter of our discontent. We’ll get through this.