Finding your center
When I left for Swarm, I was a mess.
I was slated to join my friends on the farm on the 4th of July, narrowly escaping the onslaught of illegal fireworks that engulf Chicago’s skies for days on end. As a member of the organizing committee since 2019, this would be my first summer back on the ground at the artist residency in three years.
Already, I was dreaming of lazy days and hearty communal dinners.
“When I left for Swarm, I was a mess.”
However, sometime in late June I realized I had bitten off more than I could chew. The first week of July found me putting the finishing touches on my book, working my regular job, applying for upcoming opportunities, and working with the leadership team to plan the residency itself. I was also — because I decided I had capacity for this — taking a wheelthrowing pottery class.
My first two classes were a disaster. I could barely center the clay. It kept wobbling around on the wheel, no matter how much pressure I put on it—and I’m strong. For those who’ve attempted pottery before, you know that nothing creative can happen until that clay is centered.
But on my first class back from Swarm something changed. I had found my own center: wandering through the farm, napping in a hammock, sitting and listening to other artists share their work.
What I love about Swarm is that it always yields something different for me. Some years I create music, other times I draw. This year, I got inspired to create a short play that we rehearsed and performed all in one day, in the middle of a pond. In perhaps one of my favorite staging choices ever, the audience watched the performance while floating on pool noodles. It was silly and perfect and just what I needed to stop taking myself so seriously.
I returned to class with a sense of ease and all of a sudden everything clicked. My grip was now firm, but light. I pressed carefully on the clay, and listened to its movements with the palm of my hand. With my own centerness, I was now able to bring that level of focus into my creative practice.
It was a reminder for me of the power of unplugging, of grounding, and of taking the time to make sure that I am showing up whole to everything I do.
“With my own centerness, I was now able to bring that level of focus into my creative practice.”
I’ve been back home now for a few weeks and already I can feel my shoulders creeping up once again toward my ears. A few days ago, I came across this post from the Instagram account “For The Wild,” which catalogs a series of “Things you can pretend to be when you feel uncentered.”
Their list includes “a castle in the desert,” a “busy hummingbird,” and “a giant smooth boulder in the sun near a body of water.” I love the playfulness of this idea and the way that these natural images can offer a response to different forms of discomfort and doubt. So often we think of centeredness as a serious practice: meditation, concentration, willpower. But we can find centeredness in any practice that brings us into alignment with our own energy and awareness.
So, I’ll ask you: do you feel centered in your life right now? If not, what would it take to find that center? How can you bring yourself in greater alignment with your own capacity for thoughtful attention?
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