Need a Quarantine Brainchild? "Start a Blog," she said.
We've all witnessed the onset of that seemingly insatiable need to CrEaTe and to create something MaGnIfIcEnT while this unprecedented amount of free time is on our hands. If you haven't, take a quick look at any Covid-19 hashtag campaign - truly any word regarding Coronavirus - and you will see countless posts from people who've successfully taken advantage of this time indoors with themselves. The pressure is on.
"We finally have the time to do what's been in the back of our creative minds for years."
"If I can't work, I might as well make something." "Maybe my quarantine work will lead to something after all of this is over." We saw the onset and the influx of selfie videos, cross-country virtual collaborations, blogs blogs blogs, how-to's, re-imagination, and literally anything that says, "Here I am - tackling this global pandemic because America." The response, if you also have yet to encounter it, was an answer to those who couldn't create, whether they lost jobs and had to feed their children first, had no resources to carry out their ideas, didn't have any ideas at all, or are having trouble mentally and emotionally getting out of bed every day. It said, "Everyone deals with this in their own way," and "The pressure to create something or continue business as usual during a pandemic is toxic and unnecessary." These are quotations from my own mind derived from the general sentiment I've come across in a million interesting, extremely helpful, so annoying, probably true click-through posts. If you've gone through any or all of these phases in no particular order: fear, boredom, acceptance, productivity, anxiety, philanthropy, creativity, apathy, hope, depression, restlessness, and/or sadness, it seems to me that you fall into a very specific category: human. A revolutionary observation, Cadie. Like...
Florals for spring.
Groundbreaking. So, here I am, in the midst of all of this humanity, trying my hand at a blog. I've journaled off and on my whole life and really on for the last three years. It's part of a very therapeutic ritual I began in the middle of grad school. I'm an opera singer, and I have at least 4,752 blog posts I could write about that career, (which I probably will) but the short story of that looks like: a freelance artist with contracts all over the world that may or may not make ends meet and involve an overwhelming amount of long-distance in every single relationship. Maybe my next post will be about the rest of that ritual, but I'll stick to journaling here for continuity. It's part of my therapy. The funny thing is, I've always written in such a way that is grammatically correct (for the most part) and in the narrative style in case I die and someone might come across my diaries, or in my deepest heart of hearts, WHEN everyone buys copies of my posthumously published memoirs to see, "What in the world was she thinking?" I don't fancy myself the or even a voice of a generation, but maybe it's the same part of me that brought me into "showbiz" that causes me to feel the need to be a spectacle - but only the real and authentic kind. I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, by golly, and I want people to WANT to listen. Now, what is it I have to say? I've forgotten completely. Or maybe it was never even there. Forgive me, this blog was only the brainchild of day 60 of quarantine. "Start a blog!," I said. Well... Here I am.