But those deliciously wet and flowing words found no reservoir in which to settle. The calm was too fleeting. And suddenly, with all the futility of one trying to grasp running water, I was left dry. The sun at once announced itself in my room, placing gray shadows on my chilly walls. The neighbors arose. I turned on my television.

That television. I surrender once again to its mediocrity, a monument to my impotence, a cacophonic testimony to my ineffectiveness.

I once felt very productive, alive with activity and performance, believing my success had to do with lists which I kept on my fridge, ordering me around. I was obedient to their blunt and brief commands and begrudgingly or happily, the jobs were done, leaving me feeling powerful and light on my feet – the same feeling I get standing at the foot of the ocean.

But now I feel weak. Heavy. Dry.

In an effort to regain my perspective, I asked a friend why I had become so stagnant. Why does my art escape me? I make lists everyday, lists of things to do, ideas, projects, insights and images. Lists of ways to better myself and my life. Lists that lead down the pathway to perfection. And each one is written with more resolve than the last, as if a thick, black marker could ensure more success than a spineless number 10 pencil. Yet still, some small but mighty part of me has been holding back, telling myself to be wary of effort, convincing me to feed my diminishing discipline and at all costs, do not clutter an empty page with new words. Turn on the television.

My friend suggested that instead of finding more items to add to my lists, I should find ones to scratch off. Simple and brilliant? Yes. But unless someone is accustomed to turning things over for a fresh look, even the most simple of ideas won’t come.

I used to be like that, think like that. I turned everything upside down and shook the nonsense out of it. There’s nothing terribly clever about it, but it is a most helpful habit, out of which I seemed to have fallen. But, thanks to a friend who still flips things over for a fresh vantage, today I will make a new list. A very short list:

Create

Be

Breathe

At one time, my lists were bridges between my thought and my action. Then, they became a means by which I could avoid action and pay more heed to dissatisfaction instead. Each item I added to the list was like a boulder I could not lift. The list no longer contained goals, but shortcomings. They were no longer instructions, but accusations. No longer ideas, but taunts. In my effort to become better, to become myself, I had beaten myself down. I would be wise, now, to clear the ground of those heavy stones so something fresh can surface.