Burnout

I’ve just recently rearranged my room. It was one of those 2 AM manic sweaty cleans after a nine-hour shift. For two and a half hours I moved furniture while listening to Beyonce’s Renaissance.

I didn’t realize until now, upon looking up at the ceiling, that my room is almost a cube, and so by default, rectangular I guess. When you walk in you can see my little black desk (given graciously to me by my boyfriend); beside it are my black Rokit 5s positioned on stands, and sitting beneath them, foam isolation pads. The monitors are turned towards the old chair I stole from the room over that I now use at my desk space. It has 4 silver wire legs and a swirling back held together by zip ties. It’s not the type of chair you can comfortably lean back in (Hans pointed out to me yesterday) but I wouldn’t have ever known as I always sit in it cross-legged. It has a round furry red seat.

There’s this poster of Tyler the Creator staring down at me as I sit here and type; it’s the liner note/poster from the Call Me If You Get Lost Vinyl. Positioned a little lower and to the left of it is a print of a painted portrait of bell hooks; I got it off of Etsy.

Work has felt different lately. I do my best (or at least I think I do) to marry my daily life with my passions and creative endeavors. As my relationship with my art borders on profession, there’s a level of meticulousness I try to have in order to make progress every minute and in every action.

But lately, I wish to do nothing!… and I think this as I write.

In times of burnout, I think often of my friend Jason, who wrestled with the thing tirelessly before seemingly settling and making his peace with it earlier this year. I remember a conversation we had about his work and how, unlike before, he felt like the moves he was making aligned with the lifestyle he was trying to create for himself; the life that he truly wanted.

There are so many things I wish to accomplish in this lifetime; one of them is to become a better writer; another, to simply dance my whole life; to direct; to travel; to sing; to raise a family— there are many things. And so, how meticulously can one plan to do it all and do it well? I’m reluctant to say that it’s impossible (although I admittedly wish it was).

If this week, most especially these last few days, has taught me anything, it is to relinquish control. In the grand scheme of things (and I mean outer space and spirit world grand) you can’t control everything. As a human being, I can’t even control how I feel most of the time.

So today, and the last few days I made a sure effort to do nothing and try to feel OK with it. The guilt ate me. Yesterday, I spent 5 hours on my phone and was brought to tears. There I sat, at the foot of my bed shaking and cradling my knees on the pink 30 year-old shag carpet that I had wasted 5 hours of my life on Reels.

Today (more specifically) Hans and I explored the local flea market. He bought a BB gun (I can’t remember the make and model but it looks like a real handgun) and I bought a silver ring to replace the one I’d lost that I’d bought from this jewelry shop in Goldenlake. Hans picked it out [the new ring], the stone is round and a light neutral blue, held by sterling silver, the details on the stone are green; it reminds me of the planet earth. We spent the day shooting coke and beer cans off of a wooden beam in his backyard. I did so wearing my tabi boots and sunglasses, I felt like I was in a movie. In the evening we watched Life Aquatic. I loved it, the set and the shots were stunning. I really do love Wes Anderson movies.

Today had no direction/no structure and I enjoyed almost every minute of it. I’m saying, there’s no way I’d be feeling this feeling now, had I never burnt out at all and if things had simply continued as they were. In a way, this feeling now was worth the turmoil in the days that came before it. I almost want to tell God or the universe “thank you”. I’m charged enough to write this, even if no one reads it.

But that’s all I’ll share for now in my recovery from the ashes of burnout.

From the furry red seat and beyond,

-Mileena.