What if…you can’t come down the mountain because you’re not sure where the peak is?

On rest 🤡

Hello!

I’ve been sitting on this for weeks (since at least early December) and still don’t have the hindsight to get it right. As a control freak who’s weary of the personal essay industrial complex, it’s scary to write from the wound versus the scar. But what do you do when the metaphorical blood isn’t clotting? When the injury is simultaneously no big deal and all-encompassing? 

I can’t say what you would do here—you probably can’t either, considering I’m being vague as hell, but I’m just gonna push onward. Build myself a benchmark I can look back at and say, “Wow, growth!” Or something. 

Also, I am forever fascinated by other folks’ creative practices/processes/neuroses. If you too are a voyeur, strap in. 

In short, I do not know how to rest. 

Since it landed in my inbox, I’ve had this Creative Independent interview with Olympian Alexi Pappas on my running list of “shit my brain is snagging on.” More specifically, this bit, referencing Pappas’ struggle with depression after the Olympics:

“Now I’m aware that a peak in your life is not complete until you come down the mountain. I was not prepared to acknowledge that half of the mountain is actually coming down; that there’s a time after that is a part of the peak itself…”

…Now I have so much more awareness. And then to build in the decompression time after, to not answer what’s next. Now I’m not afraid of the moment after because I’m so aware that it exists and that it’s a chapter and that I have to respect it. And if I don’t, then I’m going to fall into that hole again.”

I find this both validating and horrifying. Of course achieving something incredible is going to result in a comedown period. Of course life is peaks and valleys. Of course I’ve read Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto. 

I’ve even taught this before, specifically as it pertains to the creative work I do: that the “moment of completion is also, inevitably, a moment of loss—the loss of all the other forms the imagined piece might have taken” (from Art & Fear). Being able to intellectualize a truth makes it no easier for me to abide by it.

Because the trouble here does not come with comparing myself to an Olympian. (As if! Although I do now have access to a company-subsidized Peloton app membership, so I might be able to do a push-up in the next six to sixteen weeks.) It’s instead a jealousy-adjacent feeling regarding the clarity something like a marathon involves. I can’t imagine having something akin to a finish line, the top of the mountain. 

And the top of the mountain can’t be an end-game, Olympics-level victory. Even Pappas references running smaller races to get better at her warmup routine—and how necessary “coming down the mountain” is there, too. The darkest part of me wishes creative work had a more clearly defined toll on my body. Or maybe more accurately, I wish I could recognize the “soreness,” and like an elite athlete, know when to pull back and nourish what’s overworked.

No one’s asking me to do any of the work, to begin with, so it’s only natural that no one’s going to tell me when it’s “complete enough to take a break” either. And my brain doesn’t exactly have a history of being self-aware or generous when it comes to rest. But the more I take on longer-term, higher-effort projects, the more it becomes urgent that I need to define these break-defining peaks myself. (Whether you need to achieve anything to take a break is an entirely separate discussion. The obvious answer is “absolutely not,” but gotta stick with baby steps for the punishing overlord that rules my brain.)

If you’re writing a novel, where is the finish line? When an agent contract is signed? When it’s sold? When it’s (universe-willing) published? Sure, these all sound like finish lines, but running a very stressful, very opaque race sans clear rules or fairness for multiple years straight is not exactly tenable.

All of this is to say that I am slowly recognizing this, but taking little action. For the past five years (I had no defined creative practice pre-sobriety), I’ve been more or less in constant motion. Pitching, illustrating, selling, writing, recapping, teaching, drafting, editing, embroidering, rinse and repeat.

I have this fear that if I stop everything all at once, for even a moment, I’ll never be able to start again. It’s irrational—and yes, I’ve discussed it with a mental health professional—but pervasive nonetheless. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have a Compulsion Goblin inside you screaming “MAKE ME SHIT” at all times. 

The last few months, I’ve attempted to rest. My manuscript is with a developmental editor. I have no embroidery ideas. I’m intentionally keeping book two in “vibe mode,” letting her grow in a Figjam board and a Spotify playlist—no writing sprints in sight. I’m not feverishly pitching. And I’m definitely not consuming media with the intent to write anything longer than a joke-y Letterboxd review. 

I’m trying to operate on whim versus fear, and more importantly, trying to practice discerning the difference. It’s humiliating how challenging I find this. I’ve also been learning crochet, a desperate effort to simultaneously please the Compulsion Goblin while also making nothing for public consumption or validation. This was an A+ little solution until I found out the hard way how important form and ergonomics are to maintaining the use of your hands. I couldn’t even type for several days. The body finally kept the score. 

After having a temper tantrum, I went on a long walk to see Lisa Frankenstein alone at 11 am on a Tuesday. It was awful. It was fantastic. 

If only for a few hours—regardless of summit—I let myself hobble down the mountain. 

This newsletter brought to you by:

• Boss Coffee Flash Brew, which I do not particularly like. I do, however, respect how similar the experience is to smoking a cigarette. I will not explain further.

• Bride by Ali Hazelwood. I’m only 20% in, but it’s fun as fuck (prescribed rest, obviously). Has me earnestly considering a True Blood rewatch.

• The knowledge that this will not be for everyone and will likely lose me subscribers, but doing it anyway! Separately, if this is also your struggle, please lmk! Love to commiserate.