As of today, I've surpassed 20k words in my new novel for November's writing challenge.
Wow.
I've also been commissioned a random pet portrait painting I plan to finish this weekend, and I'm working to continue my ink drawings on a less consistent basis—enough to keep my skills from going stagnant but not every day like back in October.
A short story happened in there somewhere as well. Creative overload? Perhaps.
This kitty was the result of pulling out my cool grey prismacolor markers leftover from when I was in college. I was shocked they still had any juice left after their years in the closet. And, as it turns out, a vast saturation difference exists between 30% grey and 40% grey. A mistake of pigmentation balance at the factory? Possibly. Layering the colors provided a fair amount of paper bleeding, and I didn't want my marker to run dry for the sake of one drawing.
But I enjoyed shifting creative gears.
When I'm deep in writing mode, I often joke that I require regular socializing to keep myself sane. Sure, I still volunteer at the charity twice per week and talk to neighbors or fellow Pokemon Go players at the park. True socializing? The kind where I connect with a fellow human and delve deep beneath the cursory details of my artistry as I've done above?
That's rare.
Life will push itself into the way of true connection, impeding our ability to pause and enter into someone else's word. It's a shame, but it's not the only option. Giving people grace and removing expectations from them is a struggle for me in particular, but I'm working to do better. This means not only slaying my own pride when I want them to reciprocate my efforts but getting curious.
The antidote for the ever-lurking "busy" is this statement: "Tell me more."
Inside "tell me more," tiny, life-giving implications bombard the other person with love:
- I see you
- I care about what's going on in your life
- You matter
- Your opinions and struggles are worth discussing
- I am denying "busy" to be present with you
When was the last time you heard something like that? Spoken that type of curiosity into someone's pain? So often, I've found myself simply waiting for my turn to speak (which can often mean not at all - the classic introvert curse) among discussions of children, high-stress jobs, and mountainous to-do lists—none of which apply to me at this stage of my life. Though I'm thankful for where I am, these discussions present me with a choice. Do I nod and wait for my turn to hopefully change the topic to something relatable? Keep quiet? Or do I ask for more details and dive deep into the core of the other person's life to give them some relief?
Even if I get no outlet or relief myself? Ouch. That's tough.
This is what above and beyond looks like, the very idea of loving others as we love ourselves. This form of humble sacrifice is a gift. We've all seen people who do it well, maybe in relatives who poured into others without asking for anything in return or always available coworkers. We gravitated to those people and heaped our problems on them, drawn to the safe haven they provided. We may have been so enthralled with their curiosity and genuine interest, maybe we didn't think to ask them how they were feeling. They just always seemed more concerned about helping others than talking about themselves.
I would love to become this kind of person, but my pride is a direct barrier. I want to be seen and known as well. Pouring into others and hoping they will return the favor can be a lonely place. Being a constant source of comfort for others without having a place of our own can feel like those relationships are one sided. I know that feeling well. Like I was an invisible dumping ground to boost others while getting buried under the dirt myself.
A balance exists, but it takes sacrifice.
I can't let those past disappointments stop me from trying to find genuine connection in the future. This is the struggle. It's me against my pride and the fear of feeling rejected again. As a creative who naturally orbits outside the loop, I know this will be a recurring theme in my life. I still strive to break the "busy" cycle.
Creative introvert or not, we all have a choice. Do we reach out despite our packed schedules and check in on those we care about? Do we ask more questions when someone's response of "doing fine, thanks" rings hollow?
The remedy for the loneliness permeating our world is curiosity. Rising above the norm will cost something. It may be pride, time, money, turning down an offer, accepting an offer we don't want to, or putting our needs/desires on hold for a while. Genuine connection may not always happen on the other side, but staying curious has its own rewards.
So, while I continue to type, sketch, and paint away, I keep "busy" in my peripheral. I don't want it to sneak into my vocabulary and send a negative message to someone. The word "busy" may not carry the same negative translation as "I don't have time for you" for others as it does for me, but I plan to make every effort to trudge into my friend's messes.
It may not be immediate, but it will be intentional. One day, I hope to arrive at that treasured place where I'm never too busy for those I care about. A place where I'm more concerned about carrying their pain than voicing my own or checking off my daily tasks. What a world it would be if more people put this into practice.
Keep on smilin'!
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