I’ve created and clung to habits that kept me afloat these last few years of deep transformation. The habits that, for-better-or-for-worse, I tethered myself to while in search of some sort of humanity when all else felt lost at sea.
I have this habit of waking up, putting socks on my cold feet, and turning the lamps on in the living room. I come to the windows, open my curtains and then the blinds. I orient my gaze towards the sky.
I have this habit of searching for any parcel of sun coming through the window even if the weather tells me that it’s going to be another grey and rainy day.
I have this habit of peeing while Bilbo sits next to me in hopes that his time will come shortly after. I put on a sweater, a winter coat, a hat of some sort. I rummage through baby’s basket for the sweater, the harness, the leash, the treats, and lately, the umbrella.
I have this habit of starting my day on a walk with Bilbo. I pray that he will quickly find the leaf or branch or tree to poop on. I pray that he will listen as I stumble through the park with an abundance of dogs, squirrels, and now robins rummaging through the dirt for any remnant of spring.
I come home; I weigh the beans; I grab my cards. I have this habit of grabbing my cards as if they’re going to give me the information I need to move most seamlessly through the paces of my checklist.
I have this habit of turning on *this or *this and shifting into the pertinent comfy items to adorn my body for the day even if they’re the same as yesterday. I have this habit of turning the fireplace log on the TV and allowing myself to imagine its warmth as I open my laptop to show up for my writing practice.
I have this habit of showing up for myself through writing with a lot of resistance a lot of the time.
I have this habit of going downstairs, checking my mail, and watching the leafless branches on the trees cast shadows on the brown yard. I have this habit of looking for my bees even though they’re tucked inside their hive most days this time of year. I have this habit of looking at my garden, wilted with frost, in hopes that spring is close.
And somewhere between the habits that keep me tethered to this body, to this life, to my people and my plants, things have started to shift. The days are gaining more sun each day, and my ability to get things done is expanding. The daffodil bulbs have made their way through the frozen ground in the front yard even though the rest of the garden is seemingly lifeless. I see a trail of breadcrumbs between the dreams of deep winter’s past and next season’s gain.
I’ve slowly shifted my studio outside of my home these last few weeks. It feels funny to notice the habits that have stitched my days together for 3 years now and how they are beginning to distinguish themselves from one another. It feels funny to try and parse through what tasks are dedicated to my outside space and what tasks are dedicated to my home space.
And yet, as soon as I started shifting items from home to studio, I noticed a shift in my habits. I find myself showing up for my writing practice at home in the morning and then setting it down for the rest of the day. I find myself solely focusing on my textile work while at the studio. I turn my phone off, put the Kate Bush CD on, and begin to rip through some thrifted fabrics.
I’m noticing the weight shifting in my body of ease in my home. I’m noticing how I feel showing up for my creative practice that’s just for me. I’m noticing how I still want paper and colored pencils and markers at home to day dream with. I’m noticing the spaciousness to read and play.
It all feels a little clunky and a little exciting. It’s the new habit forming of starting a podcast on my commute to the studio so as to wake up my thoughts and my purpose. It’s the habit of showing Bilbo his new play area and studio mates. It’s noticing the giant garden bed outside of my studio waiting to be tilled and tended to with spring.
It’s taken me some time to get here— to shift into a new space and to share with y’all. My studio has moved, and therefore so have my thoughts. My creative practice has shifted, and therefore so have my habits. I’m noticing the points of tension between ease, discipline, and desire.
With these habits shifting, I notice some of them come to a close.
There are many other things I’d like share, and I’ll save those for another day. I send this with a tired, bleeding body on this full moon.
Meredith