Bouncy Curls

“Write through the exhaustion.” She looked up with tired eyes; frazzled gray ringlets populated her forehead in a way that was unintentionally effective. “Exhaustion is good”.

I had come to her at my breaking point; in need of repair or rejuvenation or vitality in some form.

I confessed that the project was wearing me thin – I had driven myself to a craft store and bought materials to make a picture frame. I had made it and felt accomplished that I had created something.

Thoughts fleeting behind her bag-framed eyes, she spoke in her slow, hypnotic voice: “Diversions are bad. We need to write through our exhaustion.”

Behind my own tired eyes, strained and heavy – thoughts also streamed. There was much I wanted to say, but my back ached and I couldn’t say it – and there was a nagging urge to know just why she had created this advice for her and me to follow.

I nodded; I let her voice go through my veins and convince me that I hadn’t done enough. My breaking point was a flaw. She wouldn’t allow a slowing down, and she wouldn’t tell me that it was okay. She wouldn’t tell me that I will get better. She wouldn’t let me know.

She picked some cotton off her sweater, and just like that, she dismissed the meeting. I had come to her for guidance and advice and I left feeling more broken than I did going in. I needed someone to tell me that what I was feeling was okay – natural even – and that with a little work and meditation, it would all come together.

As I left her office, I looked back to spy her staring down at her notebook – a blank page before her forced her hand to push her weary ringlets away from her face.

She stared a long time before letting out a sigh, shaking her head and closing her fatigued eyes. She rubbed her face with her hands, wrinkling her nose and scrunching up her skin.

I watched her in silence, fractured artistic intuitions heating my skin like the blush of embarrassment. I watched her face scrunch and then stretch – a motion she repeated for what seemed like several minutes. I watched her breathe in and out, and I watched her blank page stare up at her – taunting and pushing her to her own breaking point.

Writing through it was all she knew. And I felt in that moment that perhaps she needed the advice that I had gone there hoping to hear for myself. It’s okay to walk away for a moment – it’s okay to feel tired, and overwhelmed – don’t let it get the best of you.

“Write through your exhaustion” – her smoothly tranquil voice had been so sure.

And it’s a strange feeling to realize that the person you go to for the answers isn’t quite sure of one herself.