I’ve taken a break from blog writing for a bit. And while I’m writing a new post now, this may be the only for a while. Or it may not be. All I know is I want my blog to continue being on my terms only. I don’t want to feel compelled to write for any reason other than I feel the drive to. Which is kind of what this post turns out to be about: pouring from an empty cup.
A couple of days ago, frustrated with all the Passover preparations, I published a post here that was intended to be a joke. Admittedly, the only people who seemed to get it were my husband, Yosef, who laughed out loud when he opened it, and my sisters, who know me too well to think it was anything otherwise. After I had posted it, Yosef half-joked, “Now you have to write a more serious post about Passover,” and I laughed and said, “I’ve literally got nothing to say about it this year.” I was fed up — with the Passover preparations which seemed to be endless and more exhausting with each passing day, and with my attitude to the festival, in general, this year. Which, it appeared, was basically non-existent.
If you’re in Melbourne right now, you probably also woke up to this cold-as-anything autumn Sunday morning. Today, like so many times in the past, I tried to fight it. I got up, dressed, ready (for what, I’m still not sure). Sundays are like warm drinks — made to be taken slowly. But I still wanted to go out, to do something, anything. I wanted to be productive and not let this day to go to waste. So I went out, briefly. Threw on my cosiest jumper that hadn’t seen the light of day since last winter, and braved the cold. I felt awful, but that was besides the point. I had things I wanted to get done.
Sunshine takes on a different quality in autumn, is what I decided as I walked along the beach tonight. It’s like looking at it through a filter. It’s not good or bad, just different, changed. Change seems to be the theme for autumn in general, at least for me. Every year, autumn takes on this almost surreal neither-here-nor-there quality. It’s like the world is in an adjustment period, slowly finding its feet again. It can’t make up it’s mind on whether to be sunny and warm, windy or icy cold. Like a giant spring clean, autumn throws things up in the air for a little while, before they slowly come down and settle again.
I had my once-a-year routine breast MRI last week. It was my second ever MRI. My first was last year after finding out I am a carrier of a BRCA gene variant a few months earlier. The day of the scan came — and went. It wasn’t easy, but I got through it. I didn’t faint, throw up or have a panic attack in the middle of the MRI tunnel (all the things I was secretly afraid of). I had survived my first breast MRI a year ago, I knew I could do it again, and I knew it would be easier to manage the second time around. And it was. But nevertheless, MRI’s are not fun, even at the best of times.
I’m burnt out! Tired? Fatigued? Unmotivated? Yep, yep, yep. Burn out happens slowly. You don’t even know it’s there until, well…you do. For me it’s happened as a result of trying too hard in too many different areas of my life. Trying, because I felt that if I didn’t, even for a second, things might fall apart, like that sense of control I imposed on things was actually real. It’s because I’ve been exerting too much energy for too many different projects without much of a return. It’s because I’ve been busy holding things together so they resembled a form of normal, even during distinctly out of the ordinary times. It’s because, quite simply, I’m tired and I’ve run out of energy.
When it comes to my writing and what I share on this blog, I find there’s often something brewing in me before I actually sit down to write about it. This is definitely the case for this post. I wasn’t even aware I wanted to write about anxiety when I pulled out my iPad just now.
Last week my husband and I went away on holiday. It was refreshing to get away, see new things, stay somewhere new. I think most of the appeal of holidays is the ‘new’ factor: new roads, new turn offs, new town, new environment. It’s like taking yourself out of your routine slump, and pouring some new-ness over everything so that it shines again.
I’m going to start this off with a disclaimer: I actually don’t have all the answers. What I do have is some experience with starting new side hustles, along with some experience in how to cope with rejection when your ideas aren’t received well. I know about the nitty-gritty, all the tiny messy details that nobody really talks about. But before I get stuck into it, here’s a little glimpse into my love-hate relationship with side hustles. I’ve been creating for as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager, I made jewellery that I persuaded several jewellery shops to sell on consignment. I used to walk past these shops and peer into the window at my little handmade cardboard display, counting how many pairs of earrings were hanging there to see if I’d miraculously sold some.