Artists Who Take Terrible Care of Themselves Make Terrible Art.
And by “terrible art” I mean absolutely NO art. Zilch. Zero. Nada. This week was a perfect example of exactly that.
To be quite honest, this week I was scrambling around like a runt duckling running behind his speedy family (or at least that’s what it felt like.)
Do you ever have those days when the words, “I just can’t catch a break, can I?” cross your lips more than 5 times? or 10? or 20?
To honor the theme of 2016 (Do it *your* way,) I’m finding that *my* way is often slower and more cautious than I allow myself to actually live. I push myself. I push myself way too hard. and therefore I let the rest of the world push me a lot harder.
Too many jobs. Too many clients who don’t value my contributions. Too many plates spinning. Too many distractions. Too many standards of failure. Too many standards of success. Too many tough choices. Too many missed opportunities.
and that’s just *me!* The REST of the world is reeling from the unrest and threat of Brexit doom, Cheeto skin, and toupees. I’m beginning to seriously consider writing in “Big Giant Meteor” for the next US President. It’s just all too much.
So this evening I finally caved and did the thing I should’ve started today with… Self-care on a yoga mat. So now even though I still want to crawl under the covers and give up, at least my muscles don’t.