My Mind is
19 Tabs Open
3 of Them
& I Have No Idea
Where the Music
Is Coming From
I read this and wish I’d written it. I wish it came to me in a dream rather than Instagram.
I do not mind my manic mind. It pushes me, and it breaks me. I live in a space of constant stimulation, it’s the hold NYC has over me. I need to be engaged.
As the weekend nears, the idea of a Connecticut trip becomes a reality and my excitement turns to thought, “do urbanites leave the city because they want to or because they’re told to?”
Leaving the city for the weeks end is idyllic, but is it more work than play? The packing and the transit, for 1.5 days away… I conclude there’s value in escape and I was off.
Now I’ve been in savasana for what feels to be hours but might only be a few minutes. I write stories in my mind as I battle an unimportant thought – am I relaxed or restless?
I wish I had a pen to write this down, I hope I remember this when I get to shore…
I think of Laurie Simmons, and her film My Art. Her use of the state as an artist’s reprieve. I’ve been here for two days, yet I’ve not written a thing. Why am I thinking about working or making? Isn’t this a getaway?
But my mind rejects relaxation. It’s at its happiest overrun with thoughts, ideas, and dreams. My lullabies at night are floods of thought in my imagination – ideas swirling and lapping one another until my cerebral cortex tires and my eyes fall back.
I stress about my inability to relax, I struggle to enjoy the moment and enjoy the calm. Yet I feel peace. The water, the trees, the company all fill my soul with new joys. But I wish I was doing more. I rummage for activities to fill my day. I could run, I could swim, I could work on my photography. Should I have brought a book? Maybe I should watercolor.
Instead I eat, I laugh, and enjoy being in a new environment.
As I sit on the train home I conclude that 2 days is just enough, and I am content.