08. Finding the Rhythm, Pt.2

The last time we left off on this adventure, I mentioned I was letting the universe guide me wherever it needed to. Well, it’s been a true roller coaster ride after I let this supernatural force take the wheel (ironically, “Bad Dog No Biscuits” from the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, which you should totally listen to, is playing as I type this).

This year’s theme has centered heavily around gardening. It’s an act I haven’t personally explored, but I’ve always been in proximity to through family and friends. I’ve noticed an intimate connection between a person and the earth when collaborating to create and cultivate life. Much like fruits, vegetables, and flowers grow at their own pace, so do people. It’s such a simple yet encouraging aspect of life. It’s also been the hardest thing for me to learn, but I’ll elaborate later on. Reflecting on the past few months showed me the threads strung between trusting the universe to help me find my rhythm and letting nature run its course. In looking at our reflections in the mirror, many things about ourselves are revealed. Through these revelations, I’m coming to terms with the reality of change, the inescapable act of wandering, and the joy (and fear) that comes with the adventure.

One of the hardest choices I made was to separate myself from everything and everyone.

Change is something I’ve always struggled with. Over time, I learned that change is truly inevitable. So I’ve been practicing the art of letting go and trusting the process. Since my last entry, many things have changed for both the objective and subjective better. Objectively, I’ve been immersing myself in plenty of books, exploring new music, writing a lot of thoughts, and thriving in my newfound passion for dry erase art. My creative output has been diverse, exciting, and (after reflecting on my Instagram posts) consistent. It’s reassuring because, like most artists, I rarely feel like I’m doing enough. On the flip side, I’ve made decisions that filled me with apprehension, but my wellness started asserting itself and said “put us first”.

One of the hardest choices I made was to separate myself from everything and everyone. This included, but isn’t limited to, my friends, some of my family, students, activism/community work, social media accounts, and my passions. Managing so many feelings and obligations affected my physical health (so far, it’s been related to mental fatigue). I would usually fight through the exhaustion, but I knew a larger problem was developing when I would feel lightheaded in the middle of conversations. The world was too noisy and I needed to silence things for a while. But my thoughts get their loudest when the outside noise is slumbering. The worries of FOMO (fear of missing out), falling out of the almighty algorithm, and the concerns of relapsing into my hour-long newsfeed scrolling habits had a tight grip on me for a while. All of this was amplified by my 7-month long existential crisis about my worth as an artist, educator, and person. Needless to say, everything needed to be put on hold for a while.

Am I really in a position to help someone else when I’m struggling to help myself?

In May, I jump-started my endeavors into the world of content creation and Twitch streaming. My streaming “career” took a huge hiatus after a few weeks. During that time, I spiraled into a huge cyclone of self-doubt, confusion, and self-invalidation. But this storm of emotions was needed because I was forced to reckon with thoughts, feelings, and concerns that I constantly avoided. I wrestled with questions such as “can I actually draw?”, “what is my ‘style’ or my voice?”, and “did I lose my imagination?” I found my answers in the reason for my streaming troubles—I was overwhelmed with the vulnerability of publicly exposing my shortcomings and learning new technology.

In short, I felt like a fraud for figuring things out in a public setting. I like to tinker and learn through trial, error, thought, and reflection in a private manner. Though, it took a while to realize that my creative process evolved. I kept trying to create in my old methods and failed to understand that, much like I’ve grown in other parts of my life, my process has grown as well. I also learned to study other artists and their techniques instead of comparing myself to them. Additionally, I was learning to recreate the experience of physical drawing (which is textural and alive) in a digital workspace (which feels less textural, but alive in a different way). This echoes sentiments about my disdain for CG. To finish this recipe for disaster, I dove head first into a sea of uncertainty and swam around hoping to find a way to love what I do without sacrificing my well-being.

I’m learning to move forward with something rather than moving on from it.

Ah, the joys of internal conflict! This defines the emotional roller coaster I’ve been on regarding my worth as a teacher. Self-reflection in the hopes of improvement isn’t foreign to me. However, this go around involved my health as a direct influence on my plans of action moving forward. I struggled with finding a happy medium between my passion for learning, my work as a teacher, and the requirement to take care of my mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. To sum up this struggle in one word, I think the best term would be “boundaries”. More specifically, setting and adhering to boundaries. What also frightened me was putting my role as a teacher into context—I’m helping other people find their way to their dreams while still stumbling along my own path. Am I really in a position to help someone else when I’m struggling to help myself? I’m still plagued by that thought.

I’m learning to move forward with something rather than moving on from it. Though the thought has gnawed at me for months, I’ve accepted that I must move forward with this notion and, eventually, it will fill its belly and leave when it’s time. One of my good friends, Carla, shared some powerful words with me — “Stillness is where God is.” When I quieted the noise that surrounded me, I stepped into a place of silence but unknowingly revisited the space of stillness. In this calm, I tended to my own garden instead of watching over everyone else’s. I was visited by and communed with so many forces, energies, and ancestral spirits while I was there. This is where I learned that energy is transferred during repose. (Maybe this is why meditation includes stillness? Hmm…) I’ve rested, I’ve reflected, and I’m ready to get back to the grind on my terms. The “rising”, perhaps. The rhythm has led me from being on a creative journey to discovering who I am—the Wandering Sensei.

—Moving Forward