Creative Hibernation
To all those learning to be kind to themselves on this creative journey.
I didn’t mean to go three months without writing on Substack. It just happened. An unintentional creative hibernation. In honesty, despite a tinge of guilt, I don’t feel too bad about myself for not sticking to my once a week post. I feel refreshed, renewed, ready to go about Small Glories with a new energy. However, I feel like I have done a disservice to those supportive, kind readers who read my work week in and week out. But then, I know they are the ones who will support my hibernation.
Anyway, I’ll update you with what the last 3 months have held. Winter and the glorious but slightly jarring transition into spring. A road trip. Teaching. Hockey. Swimming in the sea. Reading Mary Oliver poems. Walking - lots of that.
The not writing started by accident - a week slipped by and I didn’t write. I had been so busy I decided it was fine to miss one week in eight months. But then that week turned into two then three, then three months. And here I am sitting at my computer trying to string some sentences together like not a day has passed. Trying to pick up where I left off. Which was an article about not knowing what I’m passionate about. Maybe a slight nod toward things to come without even knowing it. My spark for writing on Substack had fizzled out. It became a bit of a drag - ‘write write write, grow grow grow’ was what my notes feed was constantly telling me. And the pressure, the hovering of the little person on my shoulder was stifling creativity. Which is a funny lesson to learn as a teacher who trys to teach creativity… I hover in the classroom, and my colleague said the other day it might stifle students’ creativity. And I realised in my writing, I was hovering over myself - rather than letting the words flow.
So here I am, letting the person on my shoulder go on a walk while I write. I’m not sure what about, but I’ll let the words flow, I’ll return for the enjoyment of it. Because I do enjoy it.
I found spring a little jarring. There was an explosion of colour, seemingly instantly longer days, a flurry of new animal life. And me standing watching the beauty unfold at once in slow motion and at double speed. I love spring, I love summer, I echo the sentiments of my kindred spirit Anne of Green Gables, when she says, ‘That is one good thing about this world…there are always sure to be more springs.’ But I also felt startled, where had the year gone? Spring meant summer, and summer meant Christmas and that meant the end of my first year of teaching. And how has it been a year? How have 207 high schoolers passed through my classes? Spring has got me all reflective. Spring means new life, in a way it is the start of a new year. Despite it being neither January 1st or Matariki.
I have also done over 9 months of weekly ocean swims and am on the home straight to completing an entire year. I am over the hill, winter has been and gone and is slowly taking with it the cold sea temperatures and frozen sand. Some days have been grey, some sunny, some lonely, some with friends, some with dolphins, but each one simple and beautiful in its own way. I always do them on a Sunday, it helps me wash off the week and prepare for a new one.
What else have I been up to? Road tripping. Gosh. I am over-awed by my country - over and over and over. I thought I had almost explored every corner, I have lived here my entire life and grown up with the ethos, ‘explore your own country before going overseas.’ But my flatmates found me a corner of Aotearoa New Zealand that I hadn’t seen. Lake Tekapo and Aoraki. The blues were bluer than you could ever imagine, the greens even greener, and the mountains towering. I stood in the face of it all and didn’t have a soul big enough to comprehend the ethereal beauty of it all. But what made it most special was to have two of my very close friends by my side to help me take it all in. Feelings swirled around in my body, none able to get a solid foothold in the full space. But it didn’t matter because we cartwheeled and laughed and stood still and sat for a while. Trying our best to let it wash over us, around us, hold us tight in its otherworldly embrace. So that has helped my creativity I think. Being in nature always does.
I have recently discovered Mary Oliver’s poems. Well by me, I mean my dear friend who sent me one, which then sent me down a joyous rabbit hole. She expresses a connection to the natural world in a way I understand, and I feel not so alone in my efforts to capture, grasp and share this feeling. Capture it in a way which makes others feel understood too, so I can be part of this chain - this web - of woman writers trying to embrace the whole of Papatūānuku (earth mother) with arms of understanding. Handing the baton off again and again in all different directions, from Mary Oliver to whoever picks up her poems and feels alive.
The Messenger By Mary Oliver My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand. Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished. The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here, which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever.
I have been painting. I painted lots of little coaster-sized scenes, and a bigger project - a tiki. It’s relaxing sitting in the lingering spring sun allowing one brush stroke to follow the next to create some sort of picture. I find flow in many facets of art. Painting, playing the cornet, sketching, writing. And I find I can’t stick on one too long or I’ll drain the juices from it. I must jump from one to the next to keep the spark alive.
And I have been walking. I do a lot of that. Both with and without my camera. Mainly to watch the ocean breathe or birds fly, maybe a bit of both, maybe to help me breathe. I come alive by the sea and while watching the wonder that is birds soaring.
I don’t really have a profound end to this piece. Other than to say have grace with your creative self. Hold that little spark, watch over it, let it burn bright, let it hibernate too. And don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Remember why you write. It’s not all about growth growth growth as the international notes market likes to remind me, maybe it is a bit about humility. Humble yourself sometimes. Write because you love it. Write because it brings you understanding, strength, community, and peace. Write to pass the baton.
Welcome back! Good for you taking the time you neeced - it sounds lovely!
Welcome back! I missed you, but glad you took the time you needed.