I have had a beautiful summer. Bookended by two epic trips either side, Hong Kong -> Sydney -> Bali before, and India (Dehradun, Chandigarh, Delhi) after, the summer was peaceful. I prioritized neglected parts of my life. My spine – finally went to the chiropractor, got into yoga, finally learned how to enjoy it. My community – expanded my social circle, prioritized time with friends, including starting a book club (where we just get together and read whatever we feel like reading).
My book came out in April, and when I didn’t feel like doing anything other than the day job, when I just wanted to hang out, have fun, I told myself that it was okay. I thought if I enjoyed the summer, made the most of it, whatever would come next would just arrive. I told myself that it didn’t matter if I couldn’t muster the energy to blog, if the single talk I gave felt so exhausting I never prioritized the other talk idea I had. I knew that a large project takes time to recover from.
At the end of the summer I have to question whether that was true. The truth is, that like any large project, my book had multiple endings.
Nearly a year ago, I finished writing.
In January, I locked myself away to do the big edit, submitted it, and let it go.
In April, I concluded the final copy edits, and it went to print.
In a big project the prospect of the ending is so appealing. It kept me going. “I’ll be so happy when this is done”. Yes. And. I will also miss it. Miss the concrete goals and the certainty. Coming out of a big project I am changed both by the doing of the project, and by being the person who did the thing, rather than the person who thinks of doing it maybe some day. I believe in myself more but also I know what it costs.
The other truth, and maybe this is true of any creative work, putting something out in the world, is not the end of it. It is the beginning of two new phases.
One phase, where you talk about what you’ve done. Try and convince people that it’s worth their time and money to read it.
A second phase where you have to ask – what’s next?
I have been a dillitant at the first phase, at talking about it. Told myself, my partner, my coach, various other people, that what I need to do is get back into blogging. Thought about ideas, sporadically, and executed on them, almost never. Some topics I feel like I am out of things to say anything about – a colleague asked me about hiring, and I just told them they would need to read chapter 8 because I wrote down everything and have nothing more to say.
The other truth of a large project, for me at least, is that whilst it anchored me in a sense of purpose, I was able to hide in it. It kept me safe, gave me good reason not to do anything else – focus is important, after all! But two years is a long time to hide. Writing, I felt like I was living under a rock, excavating a piece of my soul. And then, it’s out in the world. I think I’m supposed to dance on the rock, but it feels too high, too overwhelming, too different.
I wanted to believe that creativity would be a product of recovery, but increasingly I think that recovery is about finding the energy to go searching for creativity again, the next proximate objective of my purpose. It is great to prioritize adventure – adventure is so core to my being, my spine – it holds me up and I need it to be healthy, my community – I love my friends and the experiences we create together. But if that’s not enough, if I want more – well then I need to go and find it.
So – after a rough day, where I deeply felt the lack of purpose that had kept me grounded, stayed with me for two years, anchoring me on other rough days, I went looking for what’s next, and randomly took a course. It’s possible the specific course was the perfect thing, or perhaps I just needed to do something, anything, to create some momentum.
So here I am, writing about having nothing to say. Or, more hopefully, about feeling ready to find what comes next.