Focus on your breath, feel your connection with the ground. Be present behind your eyes. Hello, this is Stampy! Welcome to my lovely world! Scan your body for any tension. Hello Chocolatey Chip Cookies! Let any thoughts you have pass by. Muuuuuum, I need a poo. veroxybd.com
Meditation in my house. Yoga is much the same. And trying to write or do any creative work. And it’s not just the kids. There are also the sounds of drills, hammers, too loud TV’s, the hoover, a guitar that seems to only know one tune and ‘Steph, have you seen my…*insert object that you haven’t bothered to look for here*
All this. And that is before I have to deal with my own procrastination/laziness/anxiety/facebook addiction/sudden desire to tidy random cupboard/housework/housework/housework.
When I think of the kind of connected creative life that I want to live I imagine my house has just stepped out of John Lewis. Somehow there are home made things, home made soup/baking/bread, probably home made curtains. The space is beautiful, clean and bright. And I am also beautiful, clean and bright. I have been up since 5am and my yoga/meditation/core writing is already done and dusted. Now I can sit in my little office/studio (did I mention there is an office/studio?) and do more of the lovely work. And I mean lovely work. Not bloody admin for the youth theatre. Someone else does that. Someone with actual skill in this area. I just need to float around and come up with ideas. That’s me.
And I am never stressed. Or bored. Or tired. Or grumpy. And you all love me. I’ll probably write a book and you will all buy it because I am amazing and Elizabeth Gilbert is my new best friend (also David Tennant, who has happily agreed to be the patron for the youth theatre). And somehow there’s enough money for me to float away on all the courses I would like to do and pay bills obviously, all that home made food needs to be paid for. And I get invited to do things because I am clever and important and I get paid to do things also because I am clever and important.
Obviously my life isn’t exactly like that . Not even close. It feels scattered and bitty and confusing a lot of the time. I am interrupted. A lot. By the kids, by my husband, and most of all by me. The gap between the things that I want to put in place, which really are not all that grand (an hour of yoga, an hour of writing, a little bit of quiet time/meditation attempt, a couple of hours on the youth theatre, a house that doesn’t look like it just threw up on itself) and where I actually am is much bigger than I would like it to be. Much, much bigger. Even writing this I have had to stop three times to make different breakfasts for my son who is going through a I don’t like that food that I liked thirty seconds ago stage at the moment.
But here’s the thing. If imperfect practice is all that is available to you then imperfect practice it has to be. What else is there to do? So I meditate/do yoga/write etc through the noise of Stampy and his oh so charming laugh and the delights of Cookie Swirl C (for the uninitiated these are youtubers my children like, I can only assume it’s a punishment for something I did in a past life.) I will do what I can with what I have and do my best to let go of any sense of stress that the gap between reality and desire might create. And it’s all OK and it is all good.
This week there was more of a sense of routine, lovely. I feel better for it. I worked in the mornings. A bit of yoga, a bit of writing. I finished something that might be a poem. I submitted a script to the Lemon Tree Theatre in Aberdeen and they accepted it. I ran all my youth theatre sessions and they all went well. I started the fundraiser and I had some beautiful support from some beautiful people which made me feel fuzzy and warm. I’m just ticking along, doing what I can.
So do what you can with what you have, what else is there? You already have everything you need. Find space where and when you can and on the days you can’t find any that’s OK too. It’s all part of the process and it’s all allowed. My practice won’t ever be perfect, (unless I get a benefactor – I am open to offers) but it will be a practice of sorts. Just three uneaten breakfasts, two noise kids, a disaster zone house, Stampy Cat’s laugh and me.