I find myself torn on how to spend my time.
To-do lists help me structure my days. When I write things down I generally do them, even if it’s not on the days I mean to.
But what shall I write down? What is my priority?
Some time every day is given to activism, and I am pulled in further in that direction each day. If I don’t spend time creating and writing, my sense of self slips away. Without time with the plants, exercise, and keeping in touch, I lose internal balance. Organizing Opulent Mobility (my group exhibit that re-imagines disability as opulent and powerful), making tutorials to share, and creating new artworks keeps me working toward a future I want to believe in. And of course there are the things that need doing so I can eat and pay the bills and make the rent. It’s a juggling act, and I am not a good juggler.
I am working on a TV show now, mostly from home but sometimes on set, and I am out of practice with having an external schedule. I’ve become fiercely possessive of my time. My tolerance for panic and arbitrary decisions has dwindled and my patience is so limited. I struggle to keep my shoulders down from around my ears and to unclench my jaw from behind the safety mask and face shield.
Fires have not made things easier. Smoke filled my home for weeks and woke me in the night. It has eased up, but the regular flare ups in the forest behind me and all across the West Coast keep my system on high alert even when I am out of immediate danger.
It is hard these days to know what is and is not safe.
I seek out as much truth, beauty, and wonder as I can, to remind myself that the world is also full of these things.