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Why did God make the Earth round? Why not flat? I’m sure he could have made the physics work out…
Maybe it’s so that we could learn to look up to the heavens, the alternative being the heavens located right on the other side of the horizon. If the earth was flat, we’d know how far to go to reach the end. We’d only look across at what’s in front of us, and sure, it may take a while to reach, but it would be there.
Alas, instead we are confined to walk an infinite path to an unreachable destination. Round and round the earth. The heavens forever eluding us.
The best we can do is look up. And that’s where our gaze should be anyway. Because dreams and hopes above us reside. They too ask us to reach for them. We can see hope blazing in the morning sunrise, see dreams twinkle across the deep cosmos; far from the innocent yet never out of reach, laying themselves down at the feet of all who exist; no matter how far you travel, no matter where you find yourself on this orb, they are always there. Distant, not unattainable.
And yet, no fist can possess, no jump high enough ever brings them down. Only a vulnerable heart, only one that looks up, only to these hosts do they descend.
Why a round Earth, God?
So that we may learn to look up?… Indeed, while the earth is beautiful, the world is stark and merciless. No creature – no matter how pure or defiling, how majestic or lowly – no creature is afforded an undisturbed existence. Interlaced with the grace of life run the threads of struggle and grief, the pains that rupture the fibers of the heart. We who inhabit the earth, whom you bequeathed these hardships, this heartbreak, learn to lift up our gaze, beyond the pain of now. Beyond, up. There – where we mend our fragile selves in the embrace of a friend, weep under mother’s kiss, upheld by the strength of a brother, and plea to our dearly departed. There – beyond our strife. In our lows, where else can we look but up?
Why a round Earth, God?
I’m not sure. Perhaps a cube was just laughable at the time. Perhaps spheres were simply Your passing whim. Yet I cannot help but to continue to look up. Because looking down – on myself, on others – just makes me feel worse. Because looking around, well, just brings me back to where I started. I don’t know.
Perhaps for no reason at all. All I know is that when I lift my eyes to Your heavens, when I extend my battered heart beyond, I am laden with hopes and dreams. I draw breath. Nourished in my wounds, I draw closer to those that love me. Turning bad days into good…
When I was a child I feared the demons inside, as they appeared one by one.
When I was a young man, I learned to overcome them.
Now that I am in the prime of life, wisdom tells me they will never truly go away.
I stumble. I fall. I make mistakes. And people get hurt.
I hurt them.
I can hear the enemy laugh within. And another day the same way begins.
I come to understand the difference between misery and despair.
I was in a good place…once. A moment in my life where I felt a strong grip on my story. I was stable in truth, and compassionate in love…once.
But despair is the surprise assault of the darkness, the one I didn’t expect – perhaps from hubris; perhaps because I became lazy in keeping watch over my heart and virtues – the assault that ended in victory.
I feel the occupation. It is maddening, because it is familiar, I know this darkness well, we grew together. Maddening because I believed I had defeated it for good. Maddening, because it has evolved, and in my heart, a truth beats quietly that I have not.
Misery is the gentle kiss of darkness.
But despair is the absence of hope under this tribulation. Despair is feeling the fight of the spirit fade away.
But there is light.
A light that awaits my calling, my pleas, my trust.
Did I not overcome this before…once? Did I not learn the way? Did I not find the strength? Was I not a boy who became the man who conquered his darkness? Once?
O my spirit, my heart, my mind, my love – believe!
Remember the hope that kept us alive in the battles of our youth!
Remember the truth – without a challenge you can receive no strength. There is no growth without struggle!
There is no light without darkness!
Despair is not accepting the truth – that the darkness will never truly leave. It will reside within, all the days of my life.
But I will not despair.
I embrace you now, my darkness. Take a seat in our home, sit quietly, and listen:
Your purpose is to draw me into your abyss and lose myself to you.
But I will tell you now, your service to us will be to show how bright will be my light within.
I see now, that perhaps being a man is not seeking a single, everlasting conquest.
Perhaps a man’s calling is to rise each morning, give thanks for his day, pray for his strength, and with the light in his soul keep the darkness at bay – his daily battle. His daily conquest.
Perhaps only now do I truly begin to understand you, my darkness.
You are part of me. I cannot exist without you, so be it.
But without your temptation and luring and assaults and pain, there would be no choices.
How can I choose the light and all its blessings without you to contrast their value?
I choose the light, but I confess it could not be here without you…
So come, make your plans. Find me when the time is right.
I will keep watch, and wait for you, day and night.
As I turned the corner towards the coffee shop, you asked where I was, and I imagined you searching the crowd for me. I hoped you thought my quick breaths were because I was late and rushing to meet you – and that would have only been half true.
And strange, to think that only once had I seen you in person before, and every other time behind a global-pandemic-mandated PC screen. Were you so different face to face? Or could I really feel at home with you, or was I simply a happy, pure fool?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I knew I was comfortable with you. And that always led us to those great conversations, both our weird imaginations playing together like kids, warming the soul.
That’s what I enjoyed. And that was enough.
But I think it was when I saw you there, blue coat and tights, and golden buttons in the morning light, in those black heels you tiptoed on, searching through the crowd like you’d never see me again, that I heard your voice quiver and confess to me that you were eager to see me as well.
Yeah… It was right then, when you turned around and your eyes met mine, like they had seen me the whole time –
It was right when you cracked that smile, that made me laugh at all my crumbled strength-
yes-
That’s when I knew you had me, that you had always had me.
*What follows are the thoughts and images that came to me one night during the quarantine. I couldn’t completely fall asleep nor was fully awake. It seems I found a limbo where thoughts were raw, unfiltered, and unbiased. I wouldn’t necessarily say they are MY thoughts; in truth it felt as if God or the universe was whispering things to me. I am glad though because the next morning, when I was sober of conscience I read what I had recorded and I found it to be helpful and beautiful. So I thought I’d share them. I’d like to work on making this a poem but I figured why not just post the notes anyway? Maybe it’s better that way. Since there’s no binding ebb and flow to these thoughts I decided to call them “proverbs” haha but anywho here they are! If you have any comments I would love to hear them, so don’t be afraid to leave a message at the bottom. Cheers y’all! 😊
Do not be satisfied with the staples or demographics you were born into. Don’t let your profession become your identity. Have more than one profession. Be greater than the limits of other’s imaginations.
Wrestle daily with Fear, your friend, but make sure that bitch never wins. Paint your life with vivid colors, but don’t settle for anything less than a gallery. Because a drop of water in the ocean is one of many, but a force of energy reshapes the earth.
Let your life rage through sneers and whispers, mockery, doubt, and the shaking of heads. Embrace them. Forgive them. And be grateful. They’re testaments that your voice is being heard, that your actions make waves through what’s possible, that your presence is not accidental. Live. Live with vigor and a pioneer’s soul.
Because Death comes when you crown Circumstance as the ruler of what you’re capable of.
Parade your success but wear proudly the medals of failure and error that got you there.
And Believe in your strength, but accept that strength is meant to be challenged.
Writer’s block. Blank canvases. Dirty living space. Dreams in the distant, distant horizon….
***
You ever have those moments where you learn something cool but in a way that you didn’t expect?
I had never really thought much of watercolor paintings. I think the last time I had tried it was in kindergarten or a dentist’s office while I waited for my turn, I can’t be sure. But I regarded it as a wanna-be art form; I mean it’s paint and all but it doesn’t really take much skill to drop puddles of water on paper and call it a conscious effort. The street artists I’d seen who sold their pieces annoyed me because I was sure I could have snorted a rainbow, sneezed, and made a better painting than what I saw.
I also was a royal IDIOT and had no flippin idea what I was talking about.
Watercolor painting is HARD. But surprisingly instructive…
For about three weeks I’d been examining my quarantine experience for all the good things it brought me. It’s starting to wane here in Rome but I don’t want to loose all these new healthy, optimizing habits I’ve developed. The quarantine may be temporary (God let’s hope so) but I don’t want this flirtation with better things to be as well. I want to solidify these changes. If only I could understand them better! Hence my self-scrutiny and cross examination. I could never have expected, though, that I’d finally find some enlightenment in fiddling around with the whimsical flows of watercolor paintings.
But let’s back it up a sec.
The Experiments
One thing I noticed during quarantine was that on the mornings where I began my day writing a poem for an hour the rest of the day would be extremely productive. I buzzed with creativity. I’d move on to the next activity and I’d be fueled by this insane energy to do…well, anything. But then things started to sputter. Some days ran like this from my waking moment straight into my dreams. Others I’d be dead lazy or unmotivated. Sporadic euphoria.
I’d always considered myself someone with solid work ethics and drive. I managed quite a study and workload when doing my bachelors, and summers with dad were never lacking of work under the sun. But what I’m after is different. It’s not effort driven toil, not ambition or pride – more like being pulled by an energy to exist and explore; to create, and produce good actions. To be honest, it feels like something way greater than me yet that allows me to access it from time to time. But oh the spirit of man. Now that I’ve but dipped my toes in this experience I want nothing more than to bathe in it!
My idea was/is that if I can understand where these bursts come from then maybe I can harness that and apply it at will. Kind of like Goku going Super Saiyan or Sherlock Holmes on the trail of clues, I don’t know, but just being able to turn it up and turn it up high.
The theories ran wild.
The first was that I needed to read as the first thing every morning. So, cup of Joe, head to the terrace, and read until I was “feelin it”. That didn’t last long. I started lapsing into the loop of reading the same paragraphs for an hour and still not remembering what I had just read. The next was that I just needed to mix it up and switch my interests as the first warm up thing in the morning. For example, one morning yoga, the next reading, etc.
Nope.
Some days I’d be doing yoga but have a raging storm of poetry ideas, or reading but wanting to move and stretch and use my muscles. That didn’t work either.
What if I simply go with the flow at all times? If I was reading but felt like running then just drop everything and go? If I was playing guitar but suddenly get a good idea for a poem then just drop the axe and start writing? Alas, another failed idea. I would lose motivation after the first change of plans and settle for just chilling the rest of the day.
And the theories went on from there. I think the last one was listening to different music all the time. Still, nothing.
The sparks would come daily, but no fire. What I needed was a continuous fuel source. Something to keep the momentum going. In the first article (click here) I’d begun this tale in the framework of habits. Was this the same?
How do you make productivity a habit? Creativity?
Well, one particularly crappy day I was about to head off to bed when I thought I would let off some steam by slapping around watercolors on a page. A few days earlier I had made a run to the cartoleria – Vertecchi, here in Rome – for some calligraphy things. Beside the inks I needed I saw these cute, little candy-looking watercolors for about two euros a pop. I’d seen some calligraphers I admire using some fancy metallic kinds on Instagram. These weren’t those. Still, for two bucks, why not?
Because watercoloring sucked, that’s why.
For about four days, try as I might, all of my efforts ended in disaster. Fortunately for me, on that one crappy night, I knew of the perfect thing to represent my crappy feeling: with a crappy picture, literally. Except that’s not what happened. This time, I created something that hours later made me laugh at how beautiful it was – to me anyway.
— Serendipity — Watercoloring is the Art of Mistakes
When I put down the first colors, I wasn’t really thinking of what I’d paint. I just wanted to make something ugly and dull and uninspiring. So brown. Like trees. And trees needed leaves, but you know what? Forget these trees, they’re dying, it’s winter so lets make some snow. Ah but darn, I have to wait for the paint to dry a bit. Okay well, let’s do the snow landscape. But with some dark blues and purples because it’s night time. Yeaaahhh, a cold, dark night in the murdering winter of…Japan! (I was watching a movie set in Japan – “Silence”). So the trees are cherry blossoms, so let’s make the leaves red and pink….
I have too much red.
Wait, what about those Chinese fish I always see in restaurants? Yeah I’ll make one of those while I wait….
Deathly cold, somber, Japanese landscape :)
And so things went on. Koi fish is what they’re called and I made one. The entire process was a cluster of carefree choices. After all, if it sucked, who cares? That was the point. And yet somehow, putting paint and water to paper was thrilling as much as enthralling. Looking back at that moment I confess that I felt such a rush of whatever fuels addictions. Dopamine? Idk but It. Felt. Amazing.
Funnily enough, the watercolors had never behaved like I wanted them to.
And that’s where I started learning
The reason why my paintings were so awful before was because I was trying to force the paints to behave they way I wanted them to, and not as they naturally do. So when I stopped attempting to force my will and started observing, the nature of watercolors became more and more apparent. A few more hours later and I was applying them. And my koi fish sprang to life.
Bob. The Koi Fish.
That’s when it hit me.
Isn’t that exactly what I was trying to do with my life? Wasn’t that my focus for the past few weeks? To learn to apply productivity and creativity when I needed or wanted to? Had I been trying to force myself to be that instead of simply observing and learning about their nature first? Yes. Quite simply.
Shoot! Talk about revelations… I’d started off on the right ideas but I began to search for what I wanted to see and nothing else. I was searching for a process I could already understand. But if I did, then I would already be creative and productive wouldn’t I?
Is that confusing? Or does that sound too obvious? Sounds a bit anticlimactic doesn’t it? Well, that’s not all. It turns out you need one more tool to be able to engage these virtues at will. The same reason this article is called Small Victories and not Watercolor Rome-ance or something. Because of what happened the next day.
— The Power of Small Victories —
Sadly for me, the next day was a total waste of time. So was the next, and the day after. It would be about a week before I picked up the paint brush to create a new watercolor paining. I was doing very little calligraphy as well because I was wearing out my nibs and still waiting for an order from the UK.
I was in angst. Experimenting with watercolors was pretty much my only outlet all quarantine-live-long day. But I didn’t. Why? Well, I’m just gonna be straight with you, friend. I was afraid. My snow capped, Japanese, cherry blossom landscape and koy fish were things much better than I could have expected and the real is that I didn’t want to attempt something else only to go back to sucking. You ever feel like that?
Fear of failure. Goodness me, I hate to even type it. If there’s one thing I absolutely hate it’s being held in that fear. But fears are not evil. They’re more just messengers that there’s something we could take advantage of, if we could only face it. So what lay behind this fear of playing with watercolors?, I asked meself. Couldn’t tell you at the time. The other tricky thing about fears is that the answers only come if you embrace them. So there was only one thing to do.
Just go for it
But this is not the part where the main character goes off and faces the challenge. Instead, it starts with making the bed.
I woke up on May 23rd and like clockwork made my bed, put away pajamas, tidied up the room, organized my desk, cleaned all surfaces, and put in a load of laundry before jumping in the shower. When I had dressed I made a mocha pot of coffee and as I entered my room I saw the pristine state it was in and thought, “Damn I love my room”. I slid the enormous window open and felt a draft bring in fresh, corona spring air. I propped myself on my welcoming bed and thought, “Damn, I love my life!”. I smiled.
In the early days of the quarantine I’d sit on my windowsill and read :)
My mind was already fresh, even before the coffee. I began reading my anthology of literature and after about thirty minutes put it down to write the verses that had begun to pop in my head. About two hours later I had written the first article of this chronicle. The rest of the day I worked on creating a Hogwarts acceptance letter for a friend. It was a sort of calligraphy “commission”. I had almost everything written up when I noticed the large space I’d left at the top. A perfect space for the Hogwarts’ coat of arms. What happened next was a direct consequence of the sequence of events from that day.
I imagined the coat of arms on the letter. I don’t think I would have done it. Not before. I would have to use watercolors because black and white would have been bland, especially when everything else was in green ink. But my wonderful night with cherry blossoms and koi fish connected with my choices that day. I sketched a loose silhouette of the coat of arms on a scrap piece of paper and held it away from me.
“I can do this,” I said to no one at 01:00 in the morning. There was no doubt. No fear. Just vision. So I whipped alive the watercolors and well I’m sure you can guess the rest.
The evolution of the Hogwarts coat of arms
The Big Picture
As I went to sleep that night I finally started connecting the dots. I was surprised I even went to sleep, I was so elated with fulfillment. What had gone right today that had gone so pathetically all the other days? I felt like I had kept truckin’ along, from one activity to the other with no loss of energy. I was satisfied. If God had a clipboard he would’ve scratched some green checks on my deeds, I was sure, and maybe a holy hi-five. So what was it?
It was small victories.
Victory is a word that often gets its glow from glory. If you were victorious over some grand challenge, then chances are you basked in some kind of praise and renown. Big thing. Big picture. Big applause. But what about a small victory? If we make our bed, do we celebrate and yip and yap for joy? Does pride come as powerfully when we dust the counters or take out the trash? Not so much, Pancho. And yet, my quarantine has been guiding me towards small victories, and not big ones.
I think one reason it’s so hard to lose weight (or pack on muscle for metabolized hunks like me), to quit smoking, to keep studying, and other such efforts is because we see only the finish line. When we do that – or at least when I do – we’re inclined to make every effort into a mighty leap towards our goals instead of looking down at the first step. The first small victory. You may think this is where you exit because you’ve heard this before, and I guess in some way you have. There’s a lot of cliches that could fill in some space here. But small victories are not small “steps”.
If you want to lose weight, the first small step would be “let’s lose a pound this week” or “I’ll have a healthy salad tonight”, and you’d be correct. But the first small victory can be anything, whether it’s related to weight loss or not. On that gym day where you want to bike for two miles, make sure you fill the day with other meaningful, completed tasks leading up to that. Make the bed, take out the trash, fold the laundry, mow the lawn, eat snacks, etc. Chances are by the time you get to the gym you’ll be in a positive state of mind. Consider the difference when you imagine how hard it is to spend hours on the couch watching Netflix and getting up to do anything else, especially if it’s a goal or challenge.
When I started the Hogwarts coat of arms, I was ready to tackle it because I had spent an entire day of knocking out other mini-challenges or chores. The same way that I warm up before going for a run, I had warmed up all day for the big challenge. When the opportunity came, I grabbed that sucker by the horns and took off. The lessons I’d learned from my previous victory of painting a landscape and koy fish gave me the confidence to know not that I knew how to make the coat of arms, but that I could figure it out somehow. To try. To attempt, to risk, but with no influence of failure.
The Spark and the Fuel
It’s become clear now all the things I’ve been attempting to understand but that had eluded me for so long. The spark to a good day is what I want to engage in or accomplish. Some days it was calligraphy, others to improve my running record, yoga, writing, etc. But the key to actually getting things done – and entering into productivity and creativity – was establishing momentum, the fuel. And the fuel is a steady flow of small victories, each one leading into the next; not taxing, not effortless, but steady.
This is what I credit with transforming terrible watercolor attempts into a koi fish and a koi fish into a coat of arms. Recently, I’ve been commissioned to make more of the same letter. Personally, I don’t think that would have happened without the watercolor coat of arms and that wouldn’t have happened if the day had been deprived of small victories.
***
This chronicle started with Habits. Rightly so, because if people are anything we are certainly creatures of habits, as they say. So if we want to change our lives, we need the right habits to do so. Small victories are a crucial apparatus to that ambition. But making new habits takes time. And that is where the quarantine has blessed us greatly. It’s a terrible reason for which we are given the right circumstances, but we’d be wise to take advantage of it all the same.
The world needs better treatment, both earth and peoples. And as such, that calls for better people. Can we improve? Can we make healthier, more loving, unified changes to our society and individual lives?
Driving the car is not the same as being able to turn it on…
Unfortunately, small victories are not the only thing we need for successful improvements of self. Or maybe we are fortunate they aren’t. I’m thrilled to be aware of these lessons. I’ve been consciously applying them, as was my goal from the beginning, but newfound knowledge often leads to more lessons to learn.
I’ve achieved being able to apply creativity and productivity at will – a skill that needs to be honed and strengthened – but being able to “activate” is very different from being able to sustain it.
Small victories are powerful, but a greater power comes from an even greater challenge: Presence
But that will have to come in the next article. Look for it soon! I hope that maybe this chronicle can assist in any of your efforts, and if you’re willing to share then I’m interested in hearing them. My neighbor has kindly invited me for a beer and I think I will indulge :D
Until the next article! God Bless :)
Writer’s block. Poems & articles posted. Blank canvases. Watercolor paintings painted. Dirty living space. Feng Shui on fire. Dreams in the distant, distant horizon…. Gifts in the present.
***For more information regarding habits, I happily refer you the book by Charles Duhigg called “The Power of Habit”. It is informative, exciting, and very well written. My own chronicle is assisted by the information found in his book and the experimenting it has influenced.
I sit here feeling the breeze of a late spring’s evening listening to the low clamor of my neighborhood. I can’t begin to say how… refreshing… life has become. Things had been so quiet, so uncannily calm for too long.
I feel the way a child delights in discovering a new place. My eyes absorb the passerby on the street, my ears capture the clinking of dinner plates, the laughter of good company through the windows; the easy flow of life…
Out of my large window I lean. I imagine what life will soon be like now that many restrictions have begun to lift. The parks were recently reopened along with permission for socially responsible walks; a few pubs and restaurants are allowing limited seating for meals and drinks; partners can travel to visit one another in each other’s homes; and so on. Why yesterday, I met with a good friend for a pint of cider myself. It was the first time I enjoyed someone’s company in leisure in nearly two and a half months.
Perhaps the best feeling though, is that despite the much needed, much awaited, liberty we’ve been granted, there continues to be a culture of like-minded citizens; socially responsible folk that follow socially distanced guidelines. Though stores and shop owners are instilling measures to protect themselves, their is little to absolutely no retaliation or pressed feelings from the general public. There are outliers to be sure, of those who lash out and refuse to respect the measures, but these are far and few from what I’ve witnessed.
It’s life now. And we’re okay with that. For the moment anyway because it’s still necessary. Perhaps it’s because for as difficult and unfair as the Italian system may be at times, we all love and adore the Italian life far too much to jeopardize it. We want it back, and sacrificing today is a deal we all gladly accept.
I often get messages with the word “scary” to describe what happened here, and what continues to be.
Scary would not be the word I would use to describe the situation in Italy nor the unknown nature of the quarantine.
I had no reason to be. The fear originated with the virus. But the virus did not hunt. It merely tagged along, from one person to the next. So when I was finally forced to exit the “safety” of my home for groceries I was put at ease to witness how common everything looked. Citizens in masks and gloves. Lines meters and meters long of distanced customers patiently waiting their turn. Stocked shelves with plenty of food and supplies to go around.
Where then lay the danger?
Admittedly, at first, yes. I remember the day I was afraid of the virus. It was the night of the last shift I’d worked before the following Monday the country would enforce a national lockdown with high penalties for perpetrators. On the bus ride home I hopped on to find the bus driver walled off with plastic film and signs and chains. Off limits.
I was afraid of that likely foe, the unknown. If I held on to the railing, would I catch it on my hands? Could I trust the strange man near me to have clean hygienic habits? How could I be sure no one had been coughing on surfaces? How do I push the button for my stop without risking danger?
Was this silly? No. I don’t think so. In truth these questions are the reason I’m not afraid to live in Italy or move about the city.
The danger lies with people more so than a virus
When we’re children, and the thunder roars above and the lightening blinds us suddenly, each time we are frightened and wonder if danger will soon have us. So what do we do? Find our loved ones. Hold them close. And before we know it, we drift into the safety of sleep, far away from the monsters and darkness of the world. It’s not magic that saved us. It was trust. It was love and embrace. So when this virus came knocking, why did we run in separate directions? There was no evil with a face this time, no humans to hate, and yet we still created problems for ourselves.
I found safety in the masks and gloves that once put fear and distrust in my nerves. Because each time I see someone wearing them, respectfully at a couple meter’s distance, I feel the same trust and embrace. What is there to fear if even strangers do their best for their safety as much as yours?
I feel warm and safe, sane, in this city and in this country. I am proud to be here, and witness the reawakening of a marvelous populace; the same as before, but with a newly proven unity and dignity and strength and love.
Italy is finally crawling to something towards “normality” as of yesterday by easing its restrictions on mobility and industry. There’s still a long way to go, though. By no means is anyone under the impression that things are gonna reopen full-blast and society can return to the delightful debaucheries of afore times anytime soon. But it’s a start. And any freedom and room to wiggle is better than none.
Still, in some weird way, there’s a part of me that isn’t really ready for it to be over just yet. Is that weird? Am I the only one feeling that? I guess to be more specific what I’m not ready for is for anything to interfere with the steady rhythm of self-improvement I’ve been nurturing (or trying my best to nurture anyway) for the past 70 days. I have a good thing going! It’s working. In health, mind, body & soul, discipline, confidence, etc., etc., I’ve been challenging myself to do better. The crazy awesome thing was that with time things didn’t feel like a challenge so much as a thrill. But to be honest, it wasn’t a conscious effort at the beginning. With so much time provided by a strict quarantine I kind of fell into a better lifestyle. Lucky guy right? Weeeell……
Let me paint a picture of what I’m talking about. In the early days of quarantine – about 30 something days – I was living pretty swell. It wasn’t until about a month in that I finally had a “bad” day which for me was equivalent to “what the hell have I done today?” followed by “I totally wasted 24 hours of my life is what I did”. Twas quite a shite feeling. But it hit me on the head that wow, I don’t think one month has ever passed in my life where I didn’t waste at least one day. So what happened?
How did my life improve with crappier circumstances?
Freedom from choice. I think that was the kick-starter. In quarantined Italy there isn’t much you can do. Confined to a tiny-ass room in a shared residence, I spent most of my days reading, practicing some arts, guitar, yoga, things of the sort. These didn’t all happen at once, they just kind of added themselves one at a time to a beautiful batter of life-improvement cookie dough. And I slowly baked that sucker until, on that crappy one-month anniversary of quarantine, it had become my lifestyle, a total habit makeover.
My day consisted of something like this:
Wake up around 08:30 AM. Make coffee
Read literature, philosophy, or religious texts while basking in the morning glory of the sunrise and my pajamas
Get dressed and pretty – even if there was nowhere to go and no one to impress. Not sure why
Do responsible stuff like clean me tiny-ass room and laundry, grocery runs
Reward myself with lunch and/or the divine strawberry & Nutella combo
After lunch coffee because Italy
Here’s where things switched in and out. I’d do one of the following
Yoga
Calligraphy
Write stories, poems, etc.
Play guitar
Watch DIY videos on YouTube or videos on the other topics above
Netflix or Prime Video brutha
By day’s end, late into the night: Netflix and chill. Movie time
It was a pretty good life.
Looking back, the game changer was that there was nothing I had to do, so that meant I could take as long as I wanted for anything.
And that’s what happened. My day didn’t consist of many activities per se, but each one lasted hours. I’m talking like at least three or four on average. One time, I sat at my desk practicing calligraphy for ten hours. It was glorious. The next day I was on a cleaning frenzy for six hours. Another time I did yoga for three. Some days I’d draft thousands of words for short stories, poems, and articles.
What was really cool was that in all of these things, not only was I happy indulging in the time-consuming activities, but I was actually getting better. In yoga, I became more flexible and stronger than I’ve ever achieved; balance? Like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. With writing I published more pieces in a month than I did the past years, they were better received as well. And calligraphy….whooooo nelly. That’s been my reigning #1 saving grace and at the moment I’m making an effort to go professional with it.
So was time all I really needed? Was that the magic ingredient?
No. Not solely. Some days I’d try to do one of these things only to find I was irritable, annoyed, and discouraged. But why? I loved my hobbies. Why was it that some days they supercharged my brain and body like an addict and his favorite dessert and others make them completely off-putting?
If time alone wasn’t the solution, then what was?
One part was the freedom of a schedule, which in turn was the freedom from the pressure to rush, and without the pressure to rush came the freedom to be imperfect. After all, I had plenty of time to make mistakes or try again, to experiment. That made a huge difference. The stronger I made embracing these freedoms the less time it took to improve.
This became apparent when I wrote a poem called “Perfect Conditions“. I woke up that day with an exceptionally perturbed mind that had dreamed about the virus and the world’s reactions and whatnot. I had this strong, strong emotion that governments were waiting for things to be just right before putting their citizens first. And then citizens themselves – sorry, ourselves – also displayed this behavior. And that’s what hit me. I was included in that too. Wasn’t I also timid to do things because I was waiting for certain conditions or for me to be “better”? Haven’t I also been “working on things” but not really because I was too scared things weren’t just right?
My ol’ man ingrained this notion that if you’re gonna talk the talk then you should first walk the walk. So I got up and gave myself one hour to work on the poem, and whatever came out would be so; published immediately, no regrets. And I did.
I was quite proud of what I wrote. To date it’s the most “liked” and shared poem I’ve written. Nothing outstanding, but definitely better.
The most serendipitous fortune was to become aware of all these changes. An enormous milestone came from recognizing my habits that had formed over the course of two and a half months; they’re responsible for achieving the great days and how the bad days come when I stray from that. I’ve begun trying to formulate a way to make these lessons applicable to anything I do. Progress has been good and is the reason I write this blog post now. I noticed that on the days I focused on a small task for an hour – but without compromising the freedom to experiment and make mistakes or be imperfect – that the rest of the day cascaded into good habits and sometimes successes.
For example, after waking up I always, always, always, make my bed. That often leads to tidying the room or sweeping, such simple and quick things. It’s just a nice feeling to wake up and come back to a made and welcoming place to sit and drink coffee and read. And the day moves on from there.
In the last three weeks, I’m happy to say that I’ve accomplished more goals in such a short amount of time than I ever imagined. I’ve equally had bad days but not failures. Because on the days I don’t “progress” I also learn why. And one of the king reasons I am able to see now as a backbone to continuous improvement is the ever so critical importance of small victories.
But more on that tomorrow. I’ve decided to chronicle my events each day as a fundamental element to transitioning into a healthier lifestyle. My hour is up, though – I’ve actually gone over by quite a bit – and I want to move on to another small victory myself :)
***For more information regarding habits, I happily refer you the book by Charles Duhigg called “The Power of Habit”. It is informative, exciting, and very well written. My own chronicle is assisted by the information found in his book and the experimenting it has influenced.
Hello all :) like almost everyone in the world, I’ve been in quarantine for a while now and during that time I’ve been quite peaceful. I have my writing on this blog with poems and stories, and I have calligraphy for most of the rest of the day; something I haven’t really talked about much here.
I started going live on Facebook when I practice; a lot of people find it relaxing and comforting after being indoors for so long, and maybe because you don’t really see calligraphy often on Facebook, if not just in general. But I Continue reading “Calligraphy GoFundMe Fundraiser”→
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