I wrote most of this a few weeks ago, before our cat Wally passed away. Losing Wally left me emotionally bereft and I found myself unable to continue either of the projects I wrote about below. I didn’t want to send this without recognizing Wally and celebrating his life in some way.
If you don’t know Wally, he was the cat who would greet guests at the door and jump on their lap for cuddles. He tolerated overenthusiastic pets from the children. He spent my work zoom meetings pawing at my face until I gave him the pets he knew he deserved. He and our other cat Sashimi would play together in the evenings, slowly pawing at each other until, exhausted from this exertion, they’d plop down for a cat nap. No one loved catnip more than Wally, and he would come instantly for a treat. He was the sweetest, best boy, and he was one of a kind.
I knew what I wanted to write about for my second newsletter. I even had a draft started somewhere buried in the file system of my computer. A spare moment would appear, and I’d think to myself, “I should work on that draft.”
Then I wouldn’t.
Yesterday I had some time alone, and the “I should write” thought started bouncing around in my brain.
“I couldn’t possibly write,” was the reply.
“Why not?” I asked myself.
“I’m… blocked.” I looked around my office. “I’m blocked by the chaos that is this office. I’m blocked by the closed crammed with random crap, the unsorted documents, and the dresser drawers that struggle to close. Are you ever going to unbox this sewing machine? What are you doing with your life?”
I started pulling things out of the closet cubbies: expired Covid tests, craft projects in varying stages of completeness, bulk boxes of Costco gum, stocking stuffers for the children that Santa overlooked, miles of yarn. After the cubbies, I started on the shelves. I made a plan. I would tackle the closet, the dresser, the bookcase. I would finally get rid of the books I didn’t want. (Wicked Cool PHP, anyone?) I would actually put things in places that made sense, like gathering all my camera equipment in one spot.
Now it’s Monday, a work day, and even though my office is now a complete and utter mess, I decided to write. I realized the office was a physical manifestation of the chaos in my head. Reorganizing my office wouldn’t actually unblock whatever was clogging up my brain.
That realization, however, came about 1/3 of the way through the project. I haven’t even done the hard part of going through all my documents. I’ll get the piece of mind that comes from knowing exactly where the family birth certificates are, but it won’t make me feel like writing isn’t a waste of time or that any words I string together make about as much sense as my previous closet cubby organizational strategy.
Here I am writing, and I know that upstairs in my office I’m almost to the point where I need to sort the documents. I’ve done every step I could possibly do before this one. I don’t want to start this step, but I know I need to, if not just to clear up more closet space for yarn.
Instead, I write.
In getting this far, I’ve found the cure for writer’s block: get yourself to the point in a project where the next step is so terrible you’d actually rather write. Get to the part of painting a room where you have to paint around the trim. Knit until you have to weave in the ends. Rake leaves until you have to stuff the piles into bags. Then, finally, knowing you’re putting off something even more horrible, you’ll be able to write.
July hasn’t been the easiest month for me, for any of us. It feels like the whole world is struggling right now. It’s been hard for me to get into a space where I want to create anything. And now I come to the most difficult part: the end. The part where I don’t know exactly how to wrap everything up neatly and send it out into the world. At least this month is wrapping itself up, and in August we’ll begin anew.
RIP Wally