It's warmer today and the sun is out. The dirty snow mountains are slowly melting away. It's been beautiful to have a winter with real snowfall, and even bitterly cold days. But like everyone else, I'm ready for spring.
The new record has sold out (of CDs) on bandcamp, so my almost daily treks to the post office have stopped. I'd like to keep going, to begin some next creative project, but I feel an absence of motivation. When I was younger, there was no stop and start. But now I have lulls. Probably it has to do with an aging brain, with cell death (cheery!). Although some continue on into old age. My mailman, Bill, is 82. He's still delivering the mail and playing bass with his band. Another friend, a visual artist, age 85, says he wakes up every morning, excited for what the day will bring. His work is more in demand than ever. He is full of ideas.
Maybe I need time to fill up the tank a bit. I'm reading the new Karl Ove Knausgaard, “The School of Night,” which is fascinating. I love his writing. I never stop reading. I may not touch my guitar for a month or more, but I've always got a book in my hands. I need to go to a museum and look at paintings. I need to listen to more music.
I could make a collage, or a series of them. I like making them. I started during the pandemic. But it doesn't feel like work to me-- not really. It's meditative but not truly expressive for me, which I guess is the qualifier. When I write songs.. well, there's no comparison. Writing fiction, on the other hand, is a challenge. I'm learning as I go and there's a different kind of satisfaction in that. But I don't know. It's a multi-year commitment to write a novel, and I'm not in the right headspace for it. Maybe I just need to accept the lull.