27) Weeding Myself

Resistance, Insistence, Existence, Sustenance.

If I were to tell you that my accomplishments of today consisted of sewing a button onto a blouse and digging out nutgrass with the Hori Hori knife I ordered from Amazon specifically for these particular insidious weeds you’d probably think I was exaggerating, or rather, diminishing, my account of the day. It’s neither downplaying or exaggerating and quite accurate.

I tried to do more. I tried to find a pot to replant a root bound indoor plant but gave up after visiting one place. I considered sorting and clearing the pile of crap from my nightstand drawer I’d emptied on the floor in a panicked search for a baggie full of cash I’ve misplaced. I went to HEB to buy vegetables and make a pot of soup, drove to the parking lot, parked and changed my mind, deciding instead to grab a Tigerlily from Juiceland.

These distractive intentions were no match for an insistent drive to get back to work, to write—I think that’s why I couldn’t get anything done—and yet, they were enough to keep me from sitting at the page today.

This struggle with myself is tiresome. The resistance is mysterious, taking the form of various and trivial pursuits accompanied by a non-stop stream of petty admonishments; me to me, in case that’s not clear. I’m working on three parts to the job of bookwriting: a proposal, an outline, and figuring out which of my scattered essays could be construed or formatted into sample chapters. It’s hard and scary, because I really want to get an agent who believes in me and a publisher who wants to pay me to write this memoir. It feels different than writing the first one, which I was so lucky to be able to do without having to sell myself.

A creative life is filled with random satisfactions, the greatest is of course, getting to do something one loves—although it hardly sounds like love the way I describe it. Trust me, I love making music and writing. But the downsize is the constant hustle, self-promotion, trying to convince someone, anyone, that what I can create, whether it’s a song, a record, a paid personal appearance, a book… this substack newsletter…is worthy of someone spending their time and money on. I suppose it’s the same for business owners and pretty much all professional service providers and so many other careers, people who also rely on marketing and promotion to get paid.

The purest of jobs are those in the public service sector; teaching, nursing, mental health, fire fighters…ideally, law upholders. If I were in charge (I don’t want to be) I’d give all of these workers six-figure annual paychecks and low interest home loans. That’s the platform. Also, if I were in charge (IIWIC), I’d have the government subsidize sending every high school graduate to a few foreign countries to discover other people and cultures. For an entire gap year before college. Not mandatory, but if the grad doesn’t do that, they have to do volunteer work for the year. Also, IIWIC, any church that has an operating budget in excess of one mil needs to pay taxes. There’s lots more I’d do IIWIC, but I freely admit to having zero ideas about geo-political issues, trade policies and the like.

I really do NOT want to be in charge

I wrote well on the plane, flying to and from NYC to visit Audrey. I like writing on planes and think if there were an airborne residency for writers, I’d be wildly obsessed with getting it. Free consecutive longass flights with a first class seat but you have to write for half the time. Amtrak used to have a ride the train and write program, but it seems to have dried up and gone away—not sure how many of the 16,000 applicants got to do that.

The problem with an airplane “residency” is the carbon footprint. I wonder all the time how many travelers think about that—I do—and always do that performative thing of paying extra to offset the carbon footprint of my flight. As if there is any hope that it’s going to make a difference. It’s kind of like me and recycling. I’ve recycled since the 80’s, long before there were bins that trucks picked up from your home. I’d save it all, load up the car and drive the stuff to Burbank Recycling Center. I still wash, clean, and separate recyclables but this too has become performative. I know that nearly 75% will not be recycled. I know that massive amounts are taken in big trucks to sorting places and put into massive containers and trucked to ports that ship hundreds and thousands of tons across the world to impoverished countries. It’s beyond depressing and disgusting and mind-blowingly wasteful. And yet I still pretend like I’m doing the right thing—I just can’t bring myself to throw the stuff out.

Consumerism, capitalism. Don’t get me started, even though I did just that. Get started.

I think my Instagram algorithm knows me too well. All I get in my “for you” suggestions are photos and reels of cute baby animals and endless tons of plastic waste making up a beach in Senegal.

I’m going to send this off now, as imperfect as it is. I have to get some sleep for a “Head Over Heels” photo session with band and cast tomorrow. I have a full weekend ahead, with that, lots of music score practice, and some bands to go hear, a film to see, and the aforementioned writing that needs to be gouged out of myself somehow.

I’m not depressed, even if this whole thing sounds like it! Don’t worry about me! Although I did get a thumb blister from the Hori Hori knife.

I had a great visit in NYC and looking forward to everything, even the stuff I keep not doing. More from me—including music (remember Hurry and We Don’t Play?!) and some behind the scenes stuff as I prep for musical, and for my paid subscribers, a peek at something I’m writing for the next book! yah. Look for the next Direction of Motion dispatch around July 17-18.

Thank you for subscribing, I’ve been doing this thing now for over 7 months. Your interest and time is a valued part of my sustenance. I’m very grateful. xKV