The art of return
Picking things up and putting them down, evermore.
Austinites: I am moderating a panel at Texas Book Festival this Saturday, Nov. 16! Come check out the free event, “Novels Navigating Loneliness & Authenticity in the Digital Age” with authors Charlee Dyroff and Kat Tang, at 1p.m. in the Capitol Extension Room: E2.016 at 1100 Congress Ave. See you there!
I haven’t run for months, not once since the weather hit the 90s back in May. But on Sunday, I went running.
As a runner, I am so slow. Running does not come naturally to me, so I have to train my ass off to be able to run for a half-hour straight. I often walk-run (big shoutout to the Couch 2 5K app), taking the breaks I need. The Peloton app always tells me to run at a pace I feel comfortable holding a conversation at; that pace is walking. I prefer to run alone so I can suffer and huff in peace. I can’t say I like running, other than those rare, brilliant times everything clicks into place and I feel powerful and confident and proud of myself for coming this far, yet again.
I’ve been putting down and picking up running since I was in college, but I am still a runner. I don’t write every day, but I am still a writer. Even if you’re not doing the thing that pulls at your heart right now, you are still an artist.
If there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I will stray from my best habits. I will turn my back on the things that make me feel happiest and healthiest, but that also take a lot of effort.
But I also trust myself to return.
That first run back is the hardest. But two weeks in, then four, then six, it gets easier. I get stronger.
You can put anything down at any time, for days or weeks or years, and pick it back up again when it feels right. (Or maybe when it’s felt right for so long now that you simply can’t stand to put it off any longer. Getting sick of yourself can be a huge motivator.)
The world is changing, once again, demanding that we change with it. Take the time you need to process, grieve, scream, cry, sleep, heal, regroup, be with your people, come back to the core of who you are. Then, when you’re ready — return.
Each chapter of life asks us to stretch in new and uncomfortable ways. We cannot hold it all. We have to put things down and pick things up in an eternal juggling act, a telltale sign that we are alive. We must banish items from the home before we welcome new ones in. We have to say goodbye before we say hello again.
You can always return. To yourself. To what brings you lasting joy and peace. To the community you can trust and rely on. To the work you do that helps create the world you want to see.
You don’t have to be ready today, or anytime soon. But when you are ready, come back to your art. Your art will never chastise you for being away. It won’t make you feel ashamed for your absence. It will simply be with you, ready to greet this day.
"You can always return. To yourself. To what brings you lasting joy and peace. To the community you can trust and rely on. To the work you do that helps create the world you want to see." — how easily this can be forgotten, and how lovely it is to be reminded in your words here ❤️