Deeper, weirder
The key to vulnerability; the antithesis of control.
The summer-to-fall transition has been especially difficult, and I don’t think it’s just me. In the past few weeks I feel as if my manual for living has been stolen and replaced by one in a foreign language—one in which all of the pages have been rearranged, and many of them are actually just blank, and others just have textures embedded into them like moss or dried leaves or honeycomb or dryer lint. Maybe some of them are sounds. Even more of them are just memories. I feel so disoriented, but also more awake. As if the veil is thin and I can see into the future just a little bit, or see the typically-invisible thread that connects all of us to each other and the earth. Something feels different. I don’t think I’m entirely here.
Some of this has to do with being chronically ill. We who are sick live in cycles like this, where some seasons of life have us trying to make sense of a page made of moss and others have us ignoring the fact that we are sick and living like we have bodies that don’t betray us.
Living in a sick body is so disorienting. It’s so fucking weird. And the more I think about it, the more grief I feel. To no be able to count on your body to function properly—to go to bed at night and truly not know the answer to the question will I feel the same, or better, or worse than I did today? is not something I have been able to get used to. And yes, the grief comes in cycles, and the utter bewilderment comes in cycles, just like the moss pages and the ignorance benders. But the cycles are impossible to predict, and they change every time.
Some of this also has to do with being an artist—the impossible task of finding balance between the art I make and the capitalist container it’s supposed to live in; the cyclical nature of inspiration and what to do when it feels like I don’t have any; the inevitable struggle to find enough time, mental space and energy to commit to my art practice. Those are the general things that disorient me, but then there are the specific things, like revising the novel again.
Yes, I’m revising the novel after declaring that it was “finished.” An agent I’m interested in working with liked my manuscript but had pretty specific and sweeping edits she’d like to see before (potentially) offering me representation. Exciting and, yeah I’ll admit it, disappointing. Her major feedback, in a nutshell, was: deeper, weirder.
Deeper, weirder. Initially, this feedback deflated me. I thought I was deep! I thought I was weird! I just… I just wanted to be done. I wanted the hard part to be over. I wanted everything to be perfect as it is; I wanted the querying and submitting and publishing process to feel velvety smooth. And then the feedback emboldened me. Of course I want to bring more depth to my work! Of course I want my work to be weirder! The feedback made me realize all the ways I have been holding myself back—in art, yes, and also in life.
Deeper, weirder! DEEPER, WEIRDER!!!!!
Deeper, weirder has become a sort of mantra in the past few weeks, and to be honest it’s been helping me through this difficult season better than anything else. It’s shifted my whole outlook. DEEPER, WEIRDER BABY.
Deeper, weirder has helped me see how I’ve had a vice-like grip on so many elements of my life in order to feel some sense of control. I feel control when I create narratives around my chronic illness, my sense of isolation, my trauma, the ways I avoid conflict and/or feel shame about the ways I end up dealing with conflict.
Deeper, weirder gives me permission to be imperfect, to be in process, to surrender, to let go of specific outcomes. Deeper, weirder has no narrative. Deeper, weirder is simply a door. Deeper, weirder invites me to be present—and not only present in a paying-attention sort of way, but present in a peeling back the layers without fear way. Deeper, weirder doesn’t care if I feel the same, better or worse than I did the day before. Deeper, weirder shows me that whatever I’m feeling is the right way to feel, and that I am in the exact right place at all times. Deeper, weirder makes me feel more… alive? Yeah! Alive! Deeper, weirder is the antidote to passivity. Deeper, weirder is the key to vulnerability. Deeper, weirder is the antithesis of control. Deeper, weirder is a form of joy. Deeper, weirder is a creative act. Deeper, weirder is my chosen form of self-care. Deeper, weirder makes me feel closer to my community. Deeper, weirder makes me want to nurture my community. Deeper, weirder helps me text my friends back, call my mom back, put a card in the mail. Deeper, weirder is a celebration. Deeper, weirder is everything instead of nothing. Deeper, weirder is leaning in instead of pulling away.
I invite you to beckon the energy of deeper, weirder into your life, in the places that need it.
Deeper, weirder. Yes! Adopting this mantra.
DEEPER, WEIRDER!!