The Cambridge Dictionary defines “muse” as: A person, an imaginary being or force that gives someone ideas and helps them to write, paint or make music.
I’ve been trying to make the best of what this quarantine has offered in abundance; time, quiet and solitude. For example, taking on little projects to make my new space (where up until December I had hardly spent any time) feel like a home.
I have other projects that I am obligated to and want to complete. In this unique situation, the relentless silence and extreme solitude is getting in the way. Unwanted invaders overstaying their welcome.
I did promise myself I would blog during this hopefully-once in a lifetime time. I have not.
I have song lyrics to complete. Ideas to uncover in this quiet and craft into melodies. I have not.
It is in the daily eerie nothingness that I’ve discovered my creative compass has lost its North. The pages and pages of frozen snow stare back at me as I search for an ember of inspiration.
The muse seems to be missing.
I know that I am fortunate to be in the position that I am in. I know others who have not been so lucky. It is a scary time. I live alone. I haven’t been able to see my daughter in weeks and weeks and weeks. When you are isolating absolutely alone for months it becomes an intense time of daily introspection. Even if you try and distract yourself from doing so. Constant self reflection has chased the muse away. I think?
The “blursday” stillness in the moment to moment at first brought thoughtful reflection and self discovery. As the months roll by, reflection turns into a rotating conversation between useful positivity and deeper and sometimes darker thoughts.
We are all struggling. We are all sad. We are all scared and anxious about where the world is going. No one knows. And that is terrifying. I am feeling all of this. Just like you are.
Who am I to vent frustration? Who am I to mourn for times past? Who am I to feel sorry for myself?
I appreciate the frustrations of those quarantining with their kids and significant others. That, I’m sure, is exhausting and stressful. Still, when you are physically and emotionally going through this alone the pain is indescribable.
The lack of human touch and another soul nearby is a void you feel deep in your chest every waking minute. You can’t help but look inwards. You can’t help but wonder and analyze where you are at this moment.
I am my own champion. Every day, multiple times a day, I pick myself up and give myself a pep talk. I know I am strong. I know I am fortunate. But the thoughts go back and forth as I try to fill the spaces in between the moments.
How does one not get overwhelmed with joy as you go through pictures of loved ones? Remembering every feeling, every moment, every inside joke, every shared dream. Hearing the voices of family and friends long gone. All posing together with great love and peace in pictures staring up from scrapbooks put together with care.
“We are made of the moments we’ve shared with others. Keep the beautiful ones close to your heart.”
How does one analyze a waking dream where your mother, gone almost eight years, tells you how beautiful and peaceful is the place where she now graces? Showing you how all the pain is gone and all she sees and experiences are beauty and love.
My mom said to me more than once; “You are so strong. You always get up whenever life knocks you down. And I love you for it.”
How does one not see at least a glimmer of a silver lining in these awful, scary times? You can see it if you look closely. The colors in the sky are more vibrant during magic hour. You can hear it in the louder, more confident songs the birds are singing. Dolphins in Venice (I know this was a fake story but I adore the symbolism). There is always beauty in the ugliness in some fashion.
“Look for the light. Always. It is always there somewhere.”
How does one come to terms with a year of bliss ending abruptly just as this madness hit? Loved ones who welcomed you into their lives with open arms now suddenly gone like a ghost. Like a crash into a wall in the dark. No conflict. No misunderstanding. Unfollowed/unfriended/deleted without a word from their lives.
“You are so fortunate for all the good times on so many levels. Someone will be there for you someday.”
How does one not see the good in humanity? Even as the country is ugly, divided and unrecognizable? Buried under all the “protests” and political distractions/misinformation are true heroes. Doctors, nurses, mental health therapists, police, fire and rescue, emergency responders and health care providers (to name only a few) boldly go to work with the only agenda of helping people in an insane situation. Some of them putting aside their own families and safety to help strangers who need it.
Mr. Roger’s quote still relevant today; “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”
How does one find healing when a dedicated father isn’t able to be near his daughter in a time when separation due to preexisting conditions and compromised immune systems is necessary and mandatory for incredibly excruciating forever lengths of time?
“Do whatever you have to do to fill that hole in your hearts. That’s what a good father does, anything it takes.”
The white pages in my journal still stare at me. The muse may be missing. Or she may be standing in plain sight, waving her arms madly to gain attention. Isolation brings confusion without human connection. The days blur. The messages could be clear yet cloaked in mystery. The white page continues to offer nothing but silence.
If only I could think of something to write about…
P.S. I totally stole the title of this blog from Sting’s autobiography.
Agent Argyle 