I briefly mentioned in this month’s Rebellious Systems Slowdown that I moved back to North Carolina after being in Florida for almost three years. When I left Charlotte in 2021, I assumed it was for good. Aside from yearly visits, I figured that geographic chapter was over and it was time to move on.

I lost my full-time job in September of last year, right around the same time I started co-facilitating the Fall cohort of Creative Somatic Alchemy (CSA). Thanks to severance and the grounding consistency of Mosaiceye, I decided to take the month to decompress and steady my nervous system after a really stressful and depressive summer.

Then October came around, and I began stressing out about money. Despite my love for Type C, I knew it wasn’t ready or willing to fully support me financially, so I decided to start looking for an aligned part-time job to supplement my income.

(*Side note: Can we normalize the intuitive knowing of “not yet”? I’m super proud of what I’ve built over the past 2+ years, AND I don’t feel like Type C Creative is in a place where it even needs me full-time, let alone wants me. To be honest, I don’t know if I want to dedicate “full-time” energy to any job or venture, even my own.)

By mid-October I’d been dealt several discouraging rejections and was struggling with self-doubt. On top of that, I had less than a week to let my apartment complex know whether or not I was going to renew my lease in December. I was at a total loss for what to do. My anxiety was at an all-time high and I spent a lot of time crying into the abyss (and into the phone to my mom).

One ironically sunny Thursday, I was having a particularly rough time bouncing back from a rejection — it was a job I was really excited about. My brain was begging me to get back on the job boards, update my resume, anything within its control to soften the blow of disappointment.

But my body was craving respite, any kind of somatic relief I could manage in that moment. So I decided to get out of the house and go to a local smoothie shop, screaming along to 2000s punk music on the drive over.

By the time I got home, I remembered one of the homeplays for CSA that week was to “create something badly,” a prompt that always excited me and scared the shit out of my inner critic. I decided to take a step back from job searching for the day and instead started a project I’d been putting off out of fear of it not turning out perfectly.

Finding alchemy in imperfect creativity

In honor of my 30th birthday, I wanted to recycle my old journals, starting a new decade with a clean slate, and trusting that the lessons living in those pages lived inside me/no longer needed to take up physical space on my bookshelf. (Shoutout to Sahar Kazemini for sparking this idea of destruction as creation in the September 2023 edition of The Moon Times.)

I’d never recycled paper before; it’s a somewhat long process but seemed simple enough. I decided to just start with the first step: Tearing up my journal pages.

And oh boy, was my inner critic fussy.

Why are you doing a craft project when you need to find a job? You need to figure out where you’re going to live. You need to fix your life!

Despite its warnings, I cracked open the journal from my senior year of college. That version of me was very familiar with the uncertainties of life. I cried and cringed as I tore through the lined paper filled with 21-year-old hope and self-doubt.

Then I moved on to the entries I’d written during my first year in Charlotte, back in 2016. I was reminded of all the transitions I’d gone through in my five years of living there, and how everything had ultimately worked out in the end. I felt so much gratitude that I had the capacity to love and be loved the way I did in the Queen City. It gave me the perspective I needed to rediscover my hope and resiliency.

Discovering option “C”

A seed was planted that day.

Before starting the journal project, with my brain in the driver’s seat, I assumed I only had two options: A) renew my lease and find a job ASAP or B) move back in with my parents and figure out what’s next. Making time and space for creativity made room for another option entirely, one I hadn’t even considered in my crisis state of mind.

And now, three months later, I’m back in Charlotte.

Within two weeks of moving here, I got a part-time job (after months of searching and applying in Florida to no avail).

I’m splitting expenses with a roommate so I have the freedom (and privilege) to choose aligned work that feels good in my body.

All because I chose to trust my body in one moment and then allowed myself a few hours of imperfect creation, even when it felt “unproductive.”

A new definition of productivity…

I’ve said many time before that I hate the word ‘productive.’ If I could figure out how to change the definition of a word in the dictionary, I know where I’d start…

To me, productivity means to be in progress/process; contributing to a goal in whatever way — big or small, active or restful — feels right in the moment.

The way I see it, if you’re listening to your body and acting on what it’s telling you, you’re being productive. If you’re acting with self-compassion and care, you’re being productive.

If being “in your head” isn’t helping you get un-stuck, spending time in your body, in your heart, is productive.

Taking a break can be productive. Creativity can be productive. Lounging on the couch, watching hours of CSI can be productive (it’s one of the things that got me through October).

Together in process,

Andrea