You know the feeling when something is missing from your life? Now think about once the missing gaps fill. How do you feel then?
That first vacation after staying put in this pandemic.
Eating that piece of cake after a diet.
Working on your craft following some time off.
Fulfillment – this is what writing after so long feels like for me.
Last year when we were mandated into isolation, there was a continuous conversation about productivity. If we are home all day, some not working, we should be productive, right? Either learning a new skill, working on a project that was on ice for a while, or perfecting a craft. The shame of not using this time wisely can be stumbling. While the call to get things done was everywhere online, we were also told it is okay to do nothing. The toll this last year has had on our bodies mentally and physically meant nurturing ourselves more. If that looked like being unprodctive, then so be it.
It was harder to get out of bed working from home than the usual two hours before getting ready and commuting to the office. Some days I just rolled over and opened up my laptop from the same spot I woke up. No camera for any meetings before noon. After 5 pm ideas were not flowing for personal projects. I was not writing. I didn’t feel bad about it either, because honestly – I did not want to write.
Passion does not diminish permanently. There are low moments, but when you love doing something, you’ll find your way back to it – everything returns to its destined home.
Some passions are not our 9-5. Two women in my life who carve out time to do what makes them happy are my aunts. For as long as I can remember, my Tia Maria has been a seamstress. She has made all of my blankets & scarves, the person I go to for alterations, and can be found in front of her sewing machine refining her designs. My Aunt Zakia is the baker of the family. She does not need to follow a recipe for most of her creations and is usually tweaking a favorite cake or trying a new pastry. I tell her she could own a bakery, but maybe that would deplete the comfort she experiences.
Passion does not have to be monetised. It would be ideal if everyone could flip their ideas into profit. That will not always be the case or even the goal for many. Just because you aren’t making money from your craft does not minimize your skill.
I described myself as an aspiring writer longer than I should have. Embarrassingly, there were times when I’d say bartender first as if because it was the job paying my bills it defined me. My friend corrected me once after I introduced myself as an aspirant again. I do not remember who we were around, but the thing that sticks out is her coming in with, “Chenae is a writer, and a pretty good one.” Nothing like a direct nudge from a friend to tell me to put some respect on my name.
I needed permission to call myself a writer. I was only legit if accepted by a respected publication. I would be a “real writer” if I had a staff writer position. I believed that for too long. This negative view is one of the reasons I allowed my spark to wane.
It feels good to be writing.
Have I proven myself? Do I have the desire to? Not at all. The only legitimisation I require is from myself.
If you love to do something, do the thing.
– Chenae ♥
| What I’ve Read: A take on why sex work should be decriminalised. This endearing story on poet Lucille Clifton’s home, losing the house, and her children buying it back. How the marketisation of #MeToo affects the stories of survivors. Serving The Audiences Mainstream Newsroom Don’t |
What I’ve Binged:
Rider – Mereba. Her voice is a dream, and the visuals are beautiful.
What Gave Me Joy
J. Cole’s new album The Off-Season.
Taking a break from my phone. My last letter came to fruition. I lasted a week before getting it fixed.
Alex Elle’s book After The Rain
VanJess’s perfect live performance of Slow Down.
Thank you for being here.