Dirt Catharsis III: self-seeding
a blog post in which I weighed past decisions against where I am now. I tell you there's been a lot of angry going on around here.
At the moment of this writing, I have been paid for a piece of art, I am expecting payment on another that's been sold at a local exhibit; I have been paid for two freelance editing jobs; I have been paid for books sold - mycelium. xPoetry - both through Amazon KDP and from a neat little pop-up in Texarkana (I don't say whether it's Arkansas or Texas because honestly I don't know.) I'm all over the place and raking in pennies. Pennies are good. I'm not supporting myself this way yet, but I am paying bills with ROI. It feels good.
Where the anger comes in is this: I never meant to be doing any of this alone.
These days in the woods have been spent deliberately trying to re-collect what was lost, what I was when I was my most me. I had a true and supportive partner once, and it showed: we brewed our own beer, grew our own weed. He was writing original music and learning covers for a B-circuit hair metal band; I was writing (sometimes lyrics but I never told anybody) and making art, designing and sewing clothes for myself and my daughter. We had a garden out back that we let go to shit because we had so many other things going on. And then he got sick.
The ghosts have been looming hard while I build my tiny empire of one. Any sense of accomplishment comes sandwiched between hubris and loss. Even my mom noticed a lot of the poems in my book referenced that time - like I never really had room to process it until now. Never gave myself room. Kept running, kept moving, got married to buffer myself from the truths I didn't want to see: I have to do this myself.
I'm pissed because it's harder this way than trying to make progress with a partner, even when the partner is doing his own stuff. Pissed at myself, thinking I should have acquiesced a couple decades ago instead of running. I thought running was the journey, though, back then. Maybe it was. There isn't room for regret, and I know that, so then I'm mad at myself for wasting 3 minutes regretting.
I'm really excited about the next level, though: this is where I continue to build what wasn't even conceived back then. I've already stretched and taken hold; I'm learning how to better gauge what's going to fail and get out early. I'm learning that when something has a 50% chance of working out I should push more. I've got surprises, for you and for myself. All the best tricks are the ones that surprise both of us. And I'm scaring myself, so you know that's promising.
The garden is cold now, but I'm pretty sure I know what self-seeded and what's perennial. I know what's not going with me when I go.
Leave a place better than you found it. - me
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