It's Never Done
work stuff, life stuff, and ourselves — everything always is forever a work in progress
I like a project. I just have that sort of metabolism. I want to work on something, in a concentrated manner, over a set amount of time. I want to finish it to some level of satisfaction or doneness, and then move on. I don’t believe in multitasking — maybe because I am shit at it. But I also happen to think that there is a strong case to be made that multitasking itself is a myth (Are you ever really reading, or doing, or focusing on more than one thing at a time? Really really?). Anyway, in my mind, the stuff with my dad was going to be a single project that I was going to, if not solve, at least bring to some form of completion, stasis, liveability or whatever and then voila it would be done. Lol. Life has decided I needed to learn something else with all of this. Like, that nothing is ever done. None of the places I will arrange for and move my dad into are going to be his forever home. No form that I fill out, no process undertaken, no agency solicited, no energy levied will be the final, the ultimate, the last. This, like life I guess, will simply be an endless process of putting out one fire after another. And sometimes, usually, lots and lots of fires all at the same time. While being on fire yourself. Phew.
Creative stuff is like that too, of course. I shouldn’t exactly be gobsmacked. Time runs out on the clock, sure. You file for a deadline. You get to where you could never again look at the thing, so sick are you of it and of the version of yourself that made it. But is a thing done even then? How many times have you wanted to go back into a thing even when it is out there in the world, to make a new edition, a director’s cut, or whatever? There are pieces of mine from ten, 15, even 20 years ago that I still want to mess with. Mercifully, in most of these cases I hold off because I could never reenter the spirit in which they were made. Could never again re-experience what I then saw and felt (as in have the vision again or re-vision). And even if those pieces are imperfect (as is everything), in some cases they seem to me to be whole, of a piece, with a skin on them which I wouldn’t want to puncture. And maybe that is the best we can hope for with creative works. With life stuff, too, I guess. The ex who flits around in your brain. Or the version of yourself that you haven’t quite let go of. That’s also hard to put away. Meanwhile a flood of mayhem called life keeps hammering away at it all and we are forever little dutch boy’s plugging the leaks.
I wonder if there should be some comfort in all of this. The idea that the door is never closed on something. That there is always room for another revision, another draft, another word. That, even if the decisions you’ve made in the past, in work and life and relationships, or dealing with aging parents or whatever weren’t absolutely pristine, perfect work, there will inevitably be another chance at redemption barreling your way in the deluge. Life will keep throwing you opportunities to keep getting things only so-so. That is actually probably somewhat refreshing. At the moment it just makes me tired.
Hoping all is well with you and yours. Happy Sunday xoxox
I really liked this piece as it is a constant pressure in my life but I could never articulate until you did it for me!!!
We must fill our cups where we can along the way. You are so right on, forever a work in progress.