reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: exhaustion


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the trail comes to us. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

ahhh….i miss this place.

as i write this, it is a feels-like of -41 degrees outside. the actual temperature is -14. we are staying inside.

this is one of the bends in the trail i really love. as we come around this outer perimeter of the trail – a section beyond which we have explored with good boots and warm weather – i know that the stand of pines is coming. and with those pines, the scent…

we stocked up before the big freeze. going to the supermarket is astonishing each time we go, so this time was no different. we had a list – and shopped to the list – though we did buy a small bag of cape cod chips not on the list – but it was still a small fortune. we didn’t want to have to go out to resupply in the frigid arctic blast.

not to mention the fact that this time – this time in this world – oddly and horrifyingly suspended – feels overwhelming.

it’s a little bit risky writing a post ahead of its publish date, particularly now. anything could happen, it seems. and we don’t want to seem – or be – tone-deaf.

in the moments of stepping away from all that is happening – and they are merely slight moments – we seek any source of reassurance, any source of comfort, any source of grounding. we try to get good sleep, eat well, drink water, exercise. we try to find things to laugh about, things that take us away from the chaos. we hug the dog. we listen – still – to george winston’s december album. we hike when we can. we plan distractions.

but we’ve cancelled some meaningful plans, things we had on our calendar for months. things we’d been looking forward to. it was disappointing to do so, but we recognized our limits – physical and emotional – and decided to be adult about it.

yesterday, sitting on the old deck glider in the living room, looking out the front window, i tried to reason with myself about it. cancelling plans and tickets and such is not just a nod to the weather or to our personal limits.

it is a deep sigh of the exhaustion we feel as we navigate – with the pummeled populace out there – the current world, the devastation we feel about our country, the shock our hearts register each and every day as we stay as plugged in as we can manage about everything that is happening – rapidly, with no brakes.

sometimes, i guess, one just has to stay still, to sit still, to stare out the window.

and sometimes the trail comes to us and wraps us in it, hoping to assuage our fears, to calm our hearts, to stoke our courage.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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collective exhaustion. [d.r. thursday]

utterly exhausted.

we literally get to 4:30 in the afternoon, when the light of standard time is waning and the day is catching up, and we are both utterly exhausted.

we sat on the boulder overlooking the river and bowed our heads down, brows furrowed, squeezing our eyes closed as we listed the reasons why we might be tired. we decided it is collective exhaustion. we simply do not know anyone who is not beyond tired right now.

the last week offered many chances to be outside: warm sun, soft breezes, a rare november last-licks-of-second-summer. every walk helped. every minute in the adirondack chairs helped. every task checked off the never-ending chore list helped. but there was still this weariness, pervasive, inevitable.

in the middle of a raging pandemic, with the stress of keeping oneself and others healthy, with the worry of financial strain, with the chaos of the election, with the political climate and matters of social justice, with work challenges, with isolation away from loved ones and friends, with grief over our individual physical issues – where is the restoration, the rejuvenation?

and so, we tuck in. we lay our head in the crook of our arms and we sigh. we know we are not alone. everywhere, necks are bent low in sheer collapse.

collectively, we all slow down our rapidly-beating hearts and our nervous pulses. collectively, we consciously take a deeper breath. collectively, we will rise back up, unfolding our bodies from fatigue. collectively, we will carry on.

but for right now we are utterly exhausted.

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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COLLECTIVE EXHAUSTION © david robinson


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conked out. [two artists tuesday]

dogga babycat end of day

conked out.  it’s the end of the workday, the end of playtime, the end of the evening, the end of the month, the end of the year and they are conked out.  so are we.  with toys strewn about, they collapse on the floor, a wary eye on each other every so often, just making sure. but mostly, sleepy, eyes closed, soft sighs.

we feel the same way.  conked out.  it has been a year.  tomorrow we’ll search for some sage to burn on the first day of the new year, smudging room by room, letting the snuffed flame’s gentle smoke chase out the negative and allow new light in.

conked out.  it feels like a repeating theme…a basso ostinato…a foundation upon which we are all arriving at this last-day-of-the-year station.  exhaustion seems to be the grounding venn diagram of all those we have spoken with.  like lines of the composer john cage:  dissonant polyphony, indeterminate chance-filled melodies, questioning, shapeless and yet heading in some vexing conclusive direction.  2019.  confusing and atonal with a lack of rests, avant-garde, but in all the wrong ways.

as we approach the last minute of the last day of this year, we sneak a peek at the new year.  new beginnings.  we sigh. deeply.  looking ahead.

i glance at a small sign i have on the wall.  it is not without noticing the irony i read a quote from john cage, “begin anywhere.”  a good place to go from conked out.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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