It’s Monday, and I've just got home to my flat. Yesterday I was in London, and on that hallowed day (yesterday was Halloween), a tree fell on the trainline I was to catch home. All I have to show for yesterday is 3 false starts at writing (one of which was on a train that was then cancelled), and a day spent watching Squid Game in a pub and crying (although I think the latter was due to the £8 I spent on a dry chicken chorizo sandwich). Today is a new day though, and all the frustrations of yesterday are like nothing but the shadowy reflections I can see refracted in shining puddles from my shared-Liverpool-flat-window. I would lie and say a rainbow is coming, but the clouds that wreath our windows betray that the rain isn’t really over yet.
I spent the rest of last week up in Scotland for a long-anticipated reunite with my original family unit. And as it is so often with these kinds of things, I fell into a fatigue-induced illness (unavoidable) and a shamefully intolerable mood and spent the week being pretty incorrigible to everyone that had the misfortune of sharing that paper-thin caravan with me (ie.my closest loved ones). Not to mention that short trip to London wherein I realised how much I hated the place before, naturally, I was then forced to spend fourteen more hours there than I’d first planned. Perfect.
Needless to say I feel like a big steaming pile of hot mess after this week. It’s frustrating because any other time I’d emphasise how optimistic and driven I am as a person. I think of it as a sort of armour when it comes to my career as it stands in the arts industry. It’s something one needs in any position (whether you are an actor, CEO or parent) where you can come under a lot of personal criticism. And everyone goes about it differently- theatre practitioner Yoshi Oida talks about having to create a place of calm for himself, to be the eye of the storm, Ruby Wax says her armour is her confidence which stems from so many years feeling like an outsider at school.
This idea of being able to work in the arts industry when you have your own personal armour*, is liberating to me. It makes the idea of being a freelancer sound kind of great- liberated to do what I want. To write and think about ideas on walks, draw by the light of the golden hour, sing and play to one’s hearts’ content, all the while checking in with that little child inside which I think, personally, is the one that gets all the creative stuff done. But it doesn’t always work, and it’s the weeks getting to you that breaks through this ‘armour’ and suddenly one’s work and skills can seem pretty non-existent.
I think this is partly because who we are and where we come from is essentially the foundation from whence creativity springs, so to speak. On a good week, day, or hour, one can connect with that essence of childish joy that makes all the stress and head-against-the-wall banging worth it. But at the same time, we all have our doubts and fears too. Even a comment from a teacher twenty years ago, saying we are silly or too sensitive or stupid, can rear up inside us and vomit out from us into the world, poisoning, I think, our creativity.
Now, a lot of creative people I know have high expectations for themselves, drama school students are a handful picked from what can literally be over a thousand applicants. It follows that a lot of people that end up there are, commendably, forces of ambition and determination. But it’s beginning to dawn on me that there is a dark side to this, which people unknowingly harbour, which attacks unexpectedly- perfectionism, narcicism or just being too damn hard on yourself. It makes me question always striving for some golden ideal of being a creative, being ‘always on the grind’ (promoting and churning out work, always working working working in order to ‘succeed’) and whether it’s helpful. It sounds so much like a stereotypical ‘men’s club’ business environment- kill the weak link and drive home in a nice car, presenting a slab of meat or whatever to a fawning wife and kids: society-approved, stamped with the Tory-government seal. I’m in no way saying that creatives shouldn’t or don’t work incredibly hard (anyone who even just survives working within in the arts deserves at least some respect on that front) but that within that work there is so much scope for creativity, so much potential for work filled with vitality and joy rather than just one more notch on your record as a success or failure. Failure to be perfect enough or noticed enough or loved all the time, yet another reason to give up, as proof that you are, quite frankly, just a bit shit. That teacher was right. Go home. Spend £8 on a sandwich, because that’s what you deserve.
How to go on from here? I’ll purposely avoid the words self-care as a solution which for some reason does make me want to retch- the kind of activities that I associate with it don’t really work for me. For example, I find the idea of writing motivational quotes for myself so embarrassing that I write them for myself in code:
That says ‘It’s nice, knowing you’ by the way, (repulsive I know). My feeling towards such things are so forceful that I wish to make a public statement about my loathing of time spent in Lush (and bath bombs), dislike for anything on my nails (other than gold sparkly nail varnish, obviously) and face-skin, rejection of floral tastes (including chamomile and rose), distrust for any dog smaller than my own and, most vehemently, I hate hand cream (which I will do doubt be swimming in when I die and end up in the fields of punishment). But I am willing to make allowances for the importance of personal preference in this area (hand cream may just be your weapon of choice), and anyway, I probably distain ‘self-care’ in the first place because of kind of capitalist bullshit I’ve been inundated with, because I have a smart phone now that listens to everything I like and lures me to buy a happiness (which never arrives with its excess of packaging that betrays yet more money in the pockets of someone rich who doesn't care about your wellfare). Looking after oneself is an act of courage. It’s an act of defiance. It’s guerrilla warfare against the dark forces of the internet and the internal -ists instilled in us by society- and it shouldn't have to cost us anything. It takes the form of having a breath of fresh air on the doorstep. It’s having a nap, or it’s listening to Eminem (accepting the guilt that comes with that), and running in a park. It’s allowing oneself a balanced meal or letting oneself not have a balanced meal. At the end of the day, the world today is a huge productivity-driving machine that sells more pseudo versions of ‘the perfect life’ than there are cracks in the pavement. The expectations that come with that are crushing, because we all experience it every day, from everywhere. Accept it, forgive yourself, invite in a little love for yourself, and move forward with the day. It’s not even raining yet, so why rain on your own parade?
*in the sense of being able to take criticism and learn from it rather than the essential accessibility problem we have in this country with the lack of funding and respect for the arts…tell me I’m wrong.
References:
Yoshi Oida’s book (To the Actor)
Ruby Wax’s Ted Talk (I also recommend her books and dubious articles online)
The woman in orange (Barbara Streisand in 'Funny Girl' '68)
Julia Cameron’s self-help book (The Artist’s Way)
I also recommend the podcast ‘How to fail with Elizabeth Day’ where a lot of famous creatives celebrate their failures and all the growth that comes with it.
Cover photo is me in @francescajadeg 's production of 'Revolt She Said. Revolt Again' at Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts (photo credit to @andrewabphotography )