It’s one of those weeks where the work bleeds into the morning, the dreams flood into the afternoon, and the fatigue accumulated from a thousand prior nights build through the work of the day like tiny, blistering little whispers.
To be less dramatic, and perhaps a little clearer, I may admit that I’m waddling through the aftermath of a few deep nights and early mornings clacking away at my keyboard, strategizing with a more disciplined and niched approach than I have in the past, switching contexts with the speed and recklessness of an Olympian table tennis player, battling nausea from stress and metaphysical blockages I don’t quite understand (yet), and all the while crafting some language for a couple of awesome projects that I’m really not allowed to talk about here, but sometimes wish I could.
Earlier this week, I listened to a podcast interview between Kelly Wearstler and Rick Rubin while on one of my daily walks in the woods, close to my apartment. It’s one of those activities that keeps me sane after a session of deep work and writing: slipping on my one pair of running shoes—one peppered with holes, the other with a half-peeled heel—closing the laptop shut, and leaving without apology. Without explanation. Without a teeth-chattering message to send to a Machiavellian boss through Slack… yeah, I don’t miss those days.
Anyway. I found this particular interview on a whim while adjusting my headphone settings, seconds into stepping outside.
The air was chilly, the cement smelled magnetic due to the fresh sheen of rainwater, and I could not have been more excited to let the cooler temperatures sneak through the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and drop reminders of the coming autumn into my heart. The summer has felt a thousand years long. I’ve greatly missed it.
Once I found this podcast episode—realizing I hadn’t actually listened to Rick Rubin as an interviewer quite yet—I was already out of the suburban neighborhood down the street of my place, and turning right into the path below the never-ending canopy of enormous trees that formed a barrier between the busy, yet shockingly quiet, street, and the families nestled comfortably on the other side.
This realization always makes me pause; how funny, to constantly be on the edge between noise and silence, even when your reality can just be allocated to one at a time, depending on who and where you are.
You must understand that the reason I chose to listen to anything while on this walk—as someone who advocates for spending time with your own thoughts and absolutely loving the safety of my INNER WORLD—was because my brain was being especially unhelpful with its overthinking, catastrophizing, and using my imagination for the negative, and unproductive.
I didn’t want to deal with the noise, so instead of traipsing about in the woods with classical music—or nothing—like I would normally, I chose a conversation to observe, and allowed it to sit as background noise while I daydreamed and captured loose thoughts on my notes app through moments of clarity.
If you don’t capture your thoughts whenever they attack you, I don’t even know how you function. I used to let everything stir. Now I have dozens upon dozens of pages of texts to myself I capture every single week, on every walk. I am constantly bombarded with ideas. For me, there is no such thing as being bored. How can I be bored, when my mind is constantly running, and knows how to stimulate itself with imagination and observation? I imagine you might have similar thoughts, or perhaps something different, but don’t be afraid to make it clear to yourself that you refuse to choose boredom. People will tell you that boredom is fine, but it’s not. If you choose boredom, you’re choosing to be blind, deaf, and toothless.
Now.
The podcast itself.
You might be wondering what this has to do with anything.
(Un)surprisingly, it has to do with everything.
Kelly Wearstler and Rick Rubin are two people I deeply admire, and relate to in different ways. I understand Kelly, especially, for how and where she gets her inspiration—looking to sources beyond her project’s practice in order to craft something original—and how she sees the world through its many shapes, colors, and languages. She’s always felt like the twin flame mentor who is far more brilliant than me, but absolutely more unafraid, unabashed, and unrestrained by any potential anxieties or roadblocks or whatever other excuses we use to barricade ourselves from success. My past self is guilty of those, and while most of the chains have been rattled and removed, there are some that linger, like serpentine coils of iron painted in gold.
I don’t refer to Kelly’s intelligence and creativity as superior, or at least, more refined and confident, to be humble, but to express with great gratitude and delight that I finally have someone to relate to—outside of my interests, by the way, for I have no desire to be an interior designer, but you will always get my take on the medium of design as a whole—and learn from; someone creative and fascinating who feels directly connected to the belief systems I have, too.
I can’t remember exactly what made me want to talk about this, but there was a moment where Rick asked Kelly about color.
She explained very clearly, with great enthusiasm:
“Oh, God, color is so emotional.”
Those words unleashed a vision within me.
