There Is No Skimming The Surface Here

On being unsubscribed from and other rumblings from time spent offline.

The other day I got notification that a friend had unsubscribed from my email list. As I read the brief, auto-generated email, my stomach tensed and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Outwardly, I cringed. I felt my shoulders fold forward. What was I feeling? Was it shame? Sadness? Disappointment? I wanted to judge myself for those surprising feelings but what happened instead was a long wander through the rolodex of memories of other times where people had decided that, for any number of reasons, they no longer had room in their life for me—my voice, my stories, my presence—(even if it was by proxy, via an email).

An “unsubscribe” notice, of course, lacks the gut-punch effect of an outright personal rejection. Having suffered both in my life, I can easily say that one feels significantly more painful than the other (duh). What I noticed in that moment of notification was that the pinch of the email unsubscribe was enough to poke at some still-tender bruises of other moments of rejection. A recent conversation with a friend reminded me that sometimes we still have work to do around old hurts.

As I walked my neighborhood, the single question came to mind: Can I bless the ones who let me go?

If I’d been a cartoon, this singular question would have been in a thought bubble above my head. It followed me all through my neighborhood, refusing to allow for any cheap answers. … These weeks later, I can say yes—I can, and do bless the ones who have (and will) let me go, …I must. But it is work. The blessing does not come effortlessly.

One of the recent cards in my rolodex art project

The last several months have been a blur of activity, though nearly none of it visible to the outside world. I’m surprised annoyed at how many times I felt like I needed to come here to write and explain my absences to the “world”, as if I needed to justify why I wasn’t prioritizing Substack, online connections and let’s be honest, my work. But every time that compulsion rose up I was reminded, that like all of you, I bear many vocations, and writer and artist are only two of them—and not the most important at this moment in my life.

I’ve been amazed at how even though I’ve been off of social media for the Lenten season, the perceived pressure to “show up” has taken weeks to release. That reality is as annoying as it is unsurprising. “Unsubscribe” notices can feel like small logs tossed onto a fire you’re trying to put out.

I honestly love these messy shots of my art table. They remind me that creative work is not always tamable, but that in the midst of the mess, there are bits of beauty to sit with.

The inner work of sorting out why we do what we do, feel what we feel, live how we live, and on and on, is messy and time consuming, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. Mess is part of the process. As a writer and artist, I don’t get to sit down at my desk or art table to create without wading into those inner waters. Other creative minds might be able to skim across the surface but I cannot. And honestly, I don’t want to—but what it means is that it all takes effort, and sometimes, what I want to create quickly, takes more time and energy to engage in because there are surprises in those murky inner waters. There is always more tending to do.

Lately, my life (and work) feels like a puzzle being put together. I’m seeing pieces and moments, and finding where they fit, and every time one small fragment is set in place, it’s like a mini-epiphany unfurling. Two years ago now, I heard in prayer, the word, “nimble” and that word has haunted me and been a near-daily echo—a theme.

Three years ago I stood in front of a group of women at Refine {the retreat} and talked about how I was learning to pivot in my work and art, but what I didn’t know then was just how long this dance would go on, and how many more steps there were yet to learn. I wonder if I’d known what was ahead, if I’d have unsubscribed from that invitation.

The truth is, I’ll keep walking into God’s invitations to do hard things, experience hard things, and live a life that maybe doesn’t always look like it makes any real sense because I already know that I don’t want to live outside the gate.

I don’t believe that all of this (motions at the air) is some weird time slip in the universe that has no meaning or intention underpinning all of it. If life feels like a weird spiral, or a wasteland of broken dreams, or a whole inbox of “unsubscribes”, I still believe there’s a rich story being written. I refuse to believe otherwise.

As much as this has felt like a season of loss, there’s a budding curiosity too. God is doing a new thing, though admittedly, I wonder most days if I perceive it. Thankfully, whether I perceive it or not makes no difference on what is actually happening. I can show up to it with my thought-bubble questions, or I can walk blindly past it all. Either way, God’s work continues. Right now, I’m not ambling by unaware. Paying attention is its own work.

• I’m super-excited to be joining Summer gross at her Long Table retreat in September. Registration is OPEN, and I’d love to see you there. I will be hosting that Art tent again and I can’t wait!

• A few remains cards from my Artist’s Deck are available. If you want to add one to your collection, you can find those here.

• I’m working on some new creative workshops right now (yay!) Stay tuned for more details about those. Paying Substack subscribers will receive a discount code when those are live. Upgrade your subscription today.

• I’m also updating my “office hours” in hopes of adding in a regular “Art Break” to be hosted via Zoom, which is FREE for paying Substack subscribers. Please take this short poll to give me an idea of what days/times might be better for hosting this. This Art Break will be designed to be just 30-45 min long.