I’m not great on the ground floor.
It’s the floor of housework routines. It’s where the counters and tables are clear and square meals are planned and laundry is done. It’s where weeds get pulled and there’s a place for everything and everything in its place so we’re not late to everything. It’s where executive function skills shine, and I shamble about in shame and guilt and what the f*ck is wrong with me that I can’t keep these dishes done?
Where I amgreat is the attic.
It’s where Imagination reigns supreme. Where Daydreams are the spine of the life-cycle and everything is constructed to accommodate them. Brainstorms form the constellations in the angular skies and the manifestations of Visions are the great geological formations that make up the bones of the landscape. Where Fancies grow wild and Big Ideas roam free. And where I Feel everything very deeply.
It’s where the realworkhappens. And there’s nothing I love more than work.
My husband? My kids? The rest of my Dear Ones? Of course I love them. They’re the core of the circle. But that’s a different kind of love and there’s plenty to read about and say about being a stay-at-home mom who loves her family.
I’m talking about oxygen. I love O2 because it allows me to live. I need the air of the Atticlands so I can be present with my kids and not eat carbs until the dopamine creates a brief reprieve from the insurmountable, never-ending maintenance.
I need the wide open spaces of Thoughts and Inspirations. Time with my blank spiral notebook pages to scribble and connect and sketch. I need time to Plan and Envision and Think-Through. To inhabit the concepts.
Drawing inspiration iswork. Thinking is “productivity”.
And you must respect Process if you want the art itself.
It’s time for me to respect that truth and to defend it. From myself. From that self-destructive part of me that wants to smash down my natural inclinations and knowing-what-I-need instead of letting it be. That tries to convince me that art and creativity are frivolous, entitled play. Goofing around. Dawdling and delaying. Wasting time. Not contributing. Meaningless.
When I know the truth is that for me the onlymeaning is in creativity.
So I’m moving my time to the Atticlands. It’s a blissful proposition, but I’m scared. It’s just that there’s no other way. Because I must choose oxygen.
Get me to the Atticlands.
