At a different kitchen table, in a different house, in a different neighborhood, I reflect on a sense that I am not able to relax the way I used to be able. Is this the overall mood or is it just me at this point in my timeline?
I feel transported into another life. This is not my kitchen. That's not my dog. Why am I here? Oh, I know that. Friendship. We help the people closest to us and then see where the experience takes us.
Today's newsletter took a lot out of me, and it was the 11th in a row I've published something. That's the level of productivity I want and I'm here because of recent events. Something burned hot in my mind for a while, and now I've moving in a direction away from that at high velocity.
At times I feel I will lose control of my direction. A reason I prioritize solitude, or have done for the last ten years, is that I need to be able to focus in the moment on writing whatever it is I need to write. I've established my role in the community where I live, but it all seems fleeting. I'm not interacting with enough people but yet there are so many people who know my work.
How did that happen?
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| On the way there and some red lights just mean wait |
I've not worked in this house and I've already decided I don't think that I am going to do so. Posting to this account is not work, but me trying to sort out some of the cobwebs in my mind at the moment. This time next week I'll be in Pennsylvania.
In times of stress, I try to center myself by checking in and stating who I am to myself. I am aware that I am a person independent of any real affiliation. I say my name out loud, who old I am, and maybe a line about my mental state at the time. By doing so repeatedly I'm able to remember I'm an individual and capable of independent thought.
And in writing I'm able to tune out all of the physical environment where I am and think for a moment about how I feel okay with myself in this moment. That's not always the case. I wasn't feeling great earlier, but then I spent time with a friend and talked to other people and know I'm here in another place.
This whole time this whole post I've been listening to the album Paper Mâché Dream Balloon by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. At this point the song Bitter Boogie comes on and I hear my own thought processes about my own tendency to lash out when the depression comes in like a storm.
I'm not at my house so this lands more, so pleased I love a band so much that I can confidently state such things.
My name is Sean Tubbs.
I am 52 years old. And two and a half months plus that.
I am intact.
And I'm a much better person for having King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard in my life.
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