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After a while, the portrait I’d been wrestling with made me feel so dissatisfied, I decided to turn its face away from me. Maybe it was the colours I’d been using, maybe it was because I needed a break, but the more I worked on it, the more I felt as if I wasn’t getting anywhere near where I wanted to be. It’s funny to write this when during my last entry, I felt as if I’d had a breakthrough.

So, I decided to step away from the portrait. I didn’t work on it for a couple of days. I didn’t even look at it. I played with my watercolours and didn’t require myself to do anything that was like a project.

There wasn’t really much time to dwell because I had the regular check-up which consists of a bloodwork and a CT scan. I didn’t have time to dwell on the CT-scan because my youngest son was leaving for the traditional end-of-school holiday (it’s a Dutch thing where young people go on holiday with their mates at the end of senior high). It’s kind of difficult to stress about a scan when you’re making sure that your son won’t miss his flight and it’s kind of difficult to stress about a portrait when you remember you have to go to the hospital.

After a busy couple of days, I decided I needed a break. I made a date to meet up with my eldest son in the city and we went shopping for some things (in my case it was art supplies).

The great thing about taking such a break is how there’s time to think while on the train ride to and from the big city. I thought about that little voice that makes tiny sounds of disapproval in the back of our heads. We don’t register it as disapproval because we’re so used to hearing it. It’s a voice that says: Oh, that’s not good enough. Oh, that nose doesn’t look right. Oh, are you sure you want to use that shade of red? Oh. Now you’ve done it. You’re overworking it. You’re doing it all wrong. You’ll never be good at this.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s a painting or a story or a book report, our first and harshest critic is that tiny voice that causes us to tense up and become so focused on being perfect we end up helplessly throwing our hands up in the air and saying: I cannot.

There’s a great little clip I stumbled upon on youtube where a pianist is playing one of Chopin’s etudes (I forget the name but it’s one my mom played a lot). Over a section of the clip with the beautiful cascading tones of the piano, there’s a caption: What the audience hears when the pianist plays this piece. Right after this, there’s a section where the notes are clanging together in disharmony. The caption says: what the pianist hears when playing this piece.

It’s a funny clip, but it’s so apt. It doesn’t matter what art form we practice. Whether it’s making music or making art or writing, somehow we tend to hyperfocus on that one thing that just isn’t working. And it’s all that tiny little self-critical voice will let us focus on.

I laugh as I write this because it seems like this is a lesson that keeps returning to me. In the chase after an elusive perfection, we lose sight of what makes us love the things that we do.

Blessings and peace to you who read this. Thank you for dropping by.

In my previous life, goal setting was a little bit like this thing I would do in intervals. Like at the start of the year, I might set a couple of things for myself and at a certain point a sense of panic would creep in when I realised there were still things I hadn’t done.

Yesterday, as I was reading through the life after treatment module, the goal setting part of it had me thinking. For instance, if I say I want to travel more. What exactly do I mean when I say that? If I say I want to spend more time with my family, what do I really mean by that? And what about getting back to writing and finally finishing that work in progress? What about leaving a legacy and creating space for others? How and where do I even start? That familiar sense of panic came over me–that sense of I’m not sure I have enough time to do all the things.

To be honest, I didn’t actually think about these things when I first listed things down. I basically just filled in whatever and went on my merry way. But yesterday, I realised that I had a rather long list of things I want to do and it’s probably one of the reasons why I’m feeling a bit out of breath because how does one choose and where do I even start?

Thankfully, the module provides the following questions in support, some of which are:

How far along are you in regard to this goal?

What do you need to accomplish this goal?

Do you have all you need to get there?

One of the things on my list is to plan at least one weekend every year when all of us spend time as a family in one house. Last year, we went to Spa in Belgium. We are rather fond of Formula One and I’ve always wanted to visit a race track. Not only is the Spa circuit legendary, it’s also a beautiful track surrounded by lots of nature.

As I was in treatment at the time, my youngest spent most of our visit to the famous Spa circuit pushing me in the wheelchair. I didn’t get to climb up to the viewpoint tower but I loved that the kids got to do that and see it for themselves. It was only for a weekend, but we had a lot of fun with time together as well as time separately.

This year, I’m thinking of a place closer to home with more possibilities for going out into nature and taking walks because I’m more mobile than I was last year and I have more energy than I had.

But while I can plan things and organise things, while music and artmaking and teaching are proving to be quite friendly and within my grasp, I’ve discovered that getting back to writing is a lot more challenging than I had imagined.

Do I struggle with the writing because my brain isn’t quite up to it yet? Or do I struggle with the writing because writing (even when it’s fiction) feels very close somehow and I’m not yet ready to go there? It’s telling that I’m writing about not being ready because that’s actually probably what it is. Will I be ready to go there?

Writing even when it’s fiction has often been a way for me to work through whatever is weighing on my mind at the moment. I doubt that my work is commercially appealing because writing to an audience has probably been the last thing I’ve thought about. I’m not sure if that makes me a bad writer–but basically I write things that tug at me and call to me and make me take that deep dive and a lot of times the dive is personal and involved with the body and how the body moves through society and navigates all these questions that arise. What impact does space have on the body? How does society impact the body? And can one body have an impact or influence in the space they occupy? If so, in what way? (Yep, that’s one example of the process my brain goes through and maybe it’s helpful that I’m writing about it because this is probably a step towards getting there.)

I wish that answers were easy, but often answers are complex and require time and patience and a lot of times solutions to problems are never easy. The concept of good or bad and black and white is simplistic when we live in a nuanced world where many different shades go into what we imagine is one color.

So, this leads me back to goal setting and the objective of it.

Perhaps it’s so we don’t get this feeling of empty hours or days that we must feel. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s to give us a sense of purpose. Perhaps it’s to make us feel useful or accomplished. Oh hey, I did this task and that. I cleaned the bathroom without breaking down and I still had the energy to iron some clothes. That’s a win.

Now that I think about it, this sense of time running out is an illusion. We get caught up in the rush of “I must do this” and “I have to accomplish this” or “I must be useful” or whatever narrative we say to ourselves.

I think that we all have the time we need/ to do what we need to do/ and /time never runs out/. We may think that time runs out when we close our eyes in final sleep, but actually time keeps on running and what we accomplish as warm bodies reverberates even after our bodies are gone from the timeline.

Writing about this has helped me shed the rush. What needs to be done will be done and if it’s not done perfectly or as exactly as I imagine it could be, it will be enough. When I look at the timeline, I realise that actually what matters is now. From a minute ago to this minute to the minute that follows after this one. These are the moments that I can make count. Maybe I can give my son a hug or by practice my brush strokes (I’m learning how to use watercolour), or I can go out and find rocks to use for an exercise with the group. Maybe it’s something else. There’s no rush, there’s no panic. Time isn’t running out. I am moving exactly as I am meant to move within the time I occupy.

As usual, this is me thinking out loud on the page. I hope that it’s helpful to someone. Take time to do what matters to you now and if you’re feeling rushed, breathe.

Thank you for taking time to read this. I wish you blessings and peace. Maraming Salamat.