Dropping Threads

Yesterday, I was busy from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. straight. I woke up, finished editing a newsletter for a chain of resorts, cracked off yesterday's blog post (my grandmother gave me shit for not posting on Friday. I told her it won't happen again), jumped from the shower to my car with everything I needed for the day including two books, two journals, a change of clothing, a script, a computer, a water bottle and a notepad.

I drove downtown, my meditation CD not even cracking the surface of my adrenaline-charged mania. I was supposed to be imagining a golden light filling various part of my body, but instead I was imagining rear-ending the minivan in front of me. And how that would put me behind schedule by at least 15 minutes, which would throw off the delicate balance of my totally over-programmed day.

I was regressing to the Old Me. The Old Me would see a blank spot in her daytimer and gleefully plug in a meeting, briefing session, coffee date, TV shoot, whatever, without considering travel time, parking meter search time, Oh-Shit-I-Don't-Have-Change time, lunch time, or the extra time required for walking three blocks in stupid girly shoes with heels. I've lost count of the number of times I have been the idiot mincing down the sidewalk in that irritating, damsel-in-this-dress high-heel run. That's actually one of the things I love about Julia Roberts. She walks like a man, even in high heels. Check it out. Man walker.

I used to think I got off on the adrenaline high of being too busy for my own good. But now, as I slip back into an old pattern that no longer suits me, I realize I was just creating space for myself NOT to be an artist. Being too busy means being too busy for your dreams.

Yesterday, I felt two threads drop. My blog and my screenplay. I feel like I've been holding these delicate, precious threads...umbilical cords to the life that I want. And yesterday, I let my grip loosen and they started slipping through my fingers. I know what you're thinking: it's just one busy day, you can get it back. And yeah, I guess that's true.

But yesterday was a lesson about how easily, how quickly you can forget your dreams and step back on the hamster wheel of pointless action. It's like that kids' game of carrying an egg on a spoon. That egg on the spoon needs your total focus. One moment of distraction and it's over. In the game, there's no rule that says you can just put the spoon/egg down for a minute because you are really busy with some things right now, but you'll be able to pick it back up on Wednesday afternoon. Say...two thirty? No. Either you are walking with that egg on the spoon or you're not.

I don't even know if this is a good metaphor. Who cares. The point is, I felt the things that matter to me slip. And I know why I felt that. Over-programming my life is an old pattern that isn't going to work for me anymore, so it needs to change.

I can't just say my creative work is my priority. I have to live it. I have to build my life around the fact that I write plays and screenplays and books that are not going to languish in a drawer – they are going to be bought and read and produced and seen.

So, what does that mean? Tangibly.

I think it means no morning meetings for things like hotel web sites and hardwood floor brochures. The morning, for me, is sacred creative time. It's always been the time when I am most productive and creatively jazzed.

Okay, so, as of now, the morning is my time. Non-negotiable time for creative work. Whether it's Morning Pages or going for a run or blogging or sitting down with my third draft or emailing a producer or entering a contest.

The morning is now mine. I CLAIM THE MORNING.

God, this feels good.

The world will be fine without me until 12 o'clock. You hear that world? You are just going to have to fend for yourself.

What, this morning? This one right here?

Mine.