Interior seasons are weird.
Unfamiliar.
Often unannounced.
Eerily quiet.
I arrived in one during the last few days in Japan, its tacitly subtle appearance almost too quiet to notice at first as I sat painting in the second floor lounge at the hotel in Sapporo, overlooking Odori Park where people played in the snow and ascended the TV Tower. Each passing day, however, it seemed more and more steadfast in its presence, inviting a clarity I'm not sure I've ever met before but has since become an unexpected pal. If the last post was about choosing a new direction, this is about what happens once you actually start walking it.
Solitude's a funny thing and always accompanies these seasons. I think there have been a few periods in my life when it felt like a close friend, but usually so because it followed big tangible loss. My dad in 2000, a partner who took his own life in 2010, multiple cats from 2020-23. They all necessitated serious solo time, which provided space for comfort to gradually return.
With this period though, I was kinda confused as there seemed no perceptible loss, until it hit me as I sat, pretty mentally fried, on the inactive baggage carousel in LAX (my mom and I waited an hour for luggage so y'know, I had some time to reflect): "Oh wow, it's me. I'm losing the old me," I realized. I knew things were unfolding internally, but I didn't have words for it yet and a good part of me attributed it to a rather stressful family holiday. Turns out, that was a final catalyst for change.
You can't unsee or "un-know" that kind of thing and so, once back after 34+ hours of delightfully delayed travel, I tried sitting with it that first week as I managed work commitments but by that Friday, I was cooked. So I powered down and reinstalled my own brand new OS.
And let me tell you, recalibration is a b****. No other way to put it. It is so ungodly uncomfortable at times, I think it must only show up when you're at this point of no return because there's no other way a person would continue through it if it felt even a tad voluntary. What's it entail? For me, basically shedding decades of old patterns, relational habits, tolerance for ambiguity and limiting belief systems while integrating new non-negotiables. Really fun stuff. The uncertainty of what lies on the other side of this, well, it ain't easy to hold but a kernel inside tells me to stay the course. Riding with Maisie helps a lot.
Riding errands and seat time with Maisie. It's good to be back with her.
Why share all this? Well, why not? It would feel weirder not to. My work feels personal, so sharing feels natural. I'm in the stark middle of this shift too, where the old house is razed but the new one isn't fully constructed.
It's two truths existing - can't go back, but going forward still hurts like hell.
I also know so many people experience transitions and the numerous wobbles that follow, so if reading this helps just one person feel a little less nuts, it's worth it.
Integrating kept my focus in January and kept me very quiet with my nose to the proverbial grindstone, working on the new wave of watercolor art that erupted as if it'd been lain dormant for years and a far more specific and clear story within the shelter world involving hoarding investigations. My first day of shooting began two weeks ago and it will be heartrending and inspiring given the subject. My cup of tea, as you all know.
On point with the quiet season, however, is that this documentary story footage can't be shared publicly just yet for legal reasons (court cases, etc) but I will say it's got the potential for a real deal short film development. Fundraising for this will come in a bit, once I can share more details. Additionally, the watercolor painting may well bring resolution as to how to best translate animal stories that stay with me - from new print collections to book collaborations with some special folks.
My hope is that by next post mid month, you will get to see more on all this including...maybe...a new set of dual sport two wheels...stay tuned.
Interior seasons don’t exist in isolation.
They’re shaped by the world we’re living in.
The idea that two truths can exist doesn’t stop at the personal.
I hold deep love for my country, alongside real rage at what’s unfolding within it. Both live here.
In a world where you can be anything, be kind. ♥️
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