Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try...

Anyone who knows me knows I enjoy a little wallowing from time to time. I have so many "wallow mix" playlists (all with a slightly different nuance) that even I have a hard time keeping them straight. I've tweeted about how much I love the soundtrack for "Crazy Heart," particularly Ryan Bingham's "The Weary Kind." The first few times I heard it, I wasn't really listening to the lyrics. I haven't even seen the movie yet. I just knew it made me feel stronger when I needed to feel stronger.

And then a couple of weeks ago, I listened - really listened - to the lyrics. Excerpt:

Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them sevens with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind

You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don’t feel like home anymore

And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try...

I realized why it worked for me, even subliminally. I had been going through a period of adjustment for a long time. I couldn't afford to fall apart. As much as I wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep all day and night, to go over the edge, to give in to my self-destructive instincts, I knew I had to hold it together. And without realizing it, I was hearing that last line about picking up your crazy heart and giving it one more try. So I did.

Because I haven't done one of these in a while...

A "gratitude" post, that is...the last time was in February of 2008, I figured it was time to do a "what I love" list - some Austin-related, others not.

J'adore: Sparkling Lime IZZE soda (they didn't sell IZZE at the Food Lion in my old neighborhood in Charleston), PITT Artist pens are helping me get back to the notebook writing basics, healthy cooking shows on FitTV (love having digital cable again), early morning and late evening dog walking up and down the hills in my neighborhood, my new purple shorts with front and back pockets from The Gap, the Zocalo plate with avocado from Zocalo Cafe for lunch (also love the Tacos Del Mar with watermelon salsa), that I don't need health insurance to get affordable health care here (even with a diabetic specialist), the pet store that's within walking distance of my house - Just for Pets - and the owners who love my dog...I bring Lulu there often to get bully sticks (she loves them, I love them because they keep her busy; I just don't think too hard about what they're made of), my new pink gel iPhone case, two-for-$5 tacos at the taco bar at the gigantic Whole Foods, Sunday afternoon naps, Neutrogena 110 SPF dual spectrum oil-free sunscreen, washing it off, the extraordinarily ugly wide-brimmed sun hat (mine is in black) that makes me look like a total dork (but I love that a. I do not care and b. it protects my face from the brutal Texas sun...seriously, it's not even officially summer here and I'm already freckling), Half-Price Books (one of the most organized used books store I've ever visited), and that I can walk to the grocery store (HEB), CVS, Starbucks, La Salsa, Quiznos, and around the track around the middle school up the street after school hours.

My writing space in Austin...

It's not an entire sunroom like I had in Charleston, but I decided to set it up where my dining room should go and there's great light from the windows in the living room.

The inspiration board is a work in progress (always)!

Musing on my muse and writing mojo...

I had a period of adjustment after moving to Austin in January during which I couldn't (or wouldn't) write unless it was work-related. I wouldn't even unpack the boxes marked "home office," just set up my home computer on my desk so Time Warner could hook everything up the first week I got here. My notebook from last year lived in my shoulder bag, but I hadn't been able to write anything but "[fill in the blank] suuuucks" for months.

Every time I logged into my blog, I found good reasons not to write anything. I read old blog posts and they either (a) made me sad or (b) reminded me of when I used to be funny. I also read old blog posts that are still up on the site of the magazine I used to work for and they either (a) made me sad or (b) pissed me off. I also read some of my old essays and wondered if I'd ever get my writing mojo back. Did I accidentally kill my muse? Did I drive her away during one of those weeks last year when I repeatedly told her to "fuck off" and wouldn't get off of the couch? Did I forget to bring her with me to Austin? Did she just get sick of me altogether?

It's taken me a few months to realize all of the above is both bullshit and necessary. I needed some "off" time. I just moved halfway across the country, away from my friends and family and the home that I loved. It's been less than four months. What I really needed to do is cut myself some slack. So I did.

I also decided to put away the 2008/2009-barely-written-in Journal-O-Negativity. I went to a great store here in Austin called Wanderland and bought myself a new notebook and some nice pens. Earlier this month, I started from scratch, writing again. Not just writing again, but writing in a notebook. Not just writing in a notebook, but writing every day. I went back to my 15-year-old "inspiration" notebook. I re-read Writing Down the Bones. And I gave my permission to be my 20-something year old writerself, just stepping out into the world of sharing very personal information, understanding that not every sentence I write has to be brilliant, and even if I'm just writing about how I don't feel like writing, just write anyway to get the pen moving.

It worked. A couple of weeks ago, I unpacked my home office boxes. I threw or gave away anything that reminded me of negativity in my past (why did I pack that crap anyway? Bad juju...). I hung up my inspiration board over my desk. I created my writing space. A new writing space, one that makes me happy every morning when I come downstairs and see my little office in the space where most people have a dining room table. I've nearly filled a third of that new notebook I've had for less than three weeks. Is every word brilliant? Absolutely not. Most of it is crap. But I'm writing again, which also means I'm seeing the world in a different way, which also means I know that one's muse never leaves for good. Mine is lurking around here somewhere; I know she's close by.