There was supposed to be a video: The Idea i had three days ago
There are so many things I’d love to tell you. Moments of my day I’d really enjoy sharing. Ideas for content that are always running through my mind.
But the truth is, I’m exhausted.
I don’t always have it together enough to start and finish a post or video in one sitting. My body doesn’t let me spend hours at a time doing much of anything. I don’t have the wherewithal to gather all the do-das I’d need to post something every time I have a creative idea.
Here’s how it usually goes:
I have an idea. I make a mental note of it. I take care of what’s absolutely necessary and stop for a rest before going further. I get up and set up the camera. Make some coffee. I look in the mirror and see someone who’s barely slept. Eyes puffy and red. I put on some makeup and notice it didn’t make much difference. I tell myself I can’t possibly make a video looking like this. I think to myself, I’ll jot down a few words for a Substack article instead. No cameras, no critiquing the face I’m reluctant to show. Should be easy.
I open my laptop. I try to turn my video idea into a written post. It doesn’t feel the same. I wonder if I’m essentially a terrible writer. I try some more, but soon enough, my body says, “No more sitting.” I get up, have some tea, the idea still brewing in my mind. I’ve learned to listen when my body says “no.”
Meanwhile, the camera stand waits in the living room. Days go by. I stare at it and think, “I really want to get that done.” I’m waiting until I look a little better, not so frumpy and wrung out. Maybe better lighting will help. I set up the ring light and set myself down to finally make that video. I trip over my tongue and start over. I do that a few more times. My idea is right there, but the words won’t string themselves together. I stop and decide to try tomorrow. I’m too tired anyway. I notice that the tea I made hours ago is cold and less inviting.
I decide it’s probably good to make a new plan while I make lunch. That means I’m standing in the kitchen with my eyes on the clock, making sure I don’t overextend myself. I’m chopping vegetables while rehearsing the lines I hope to record later. I think of two or three more ideas as the food is cooking. A funny thought. A reflective realization. Maybe how sweet it is when a hummingbird hovers over the flowers I planted, reminding me of the lightness of life. But after lunch, I’m wiped out. I decide to wait for a while and try again later. I lie down on the couch, the camera giving me the side-eye in what seems like anthropomorphized disdain. “I know,” I say.
I wish it were different. I wish many things were different. But this is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’m doing the best I can with it.
I wish I felt more at ease showing up just as I am, frump and all. I wish I weren’t thinking about the pain with every word I utter and instead speaking with the freedom of my full breath and concentration.
Some people can post several videos a day without blinking an eye. And sure, some of them are naturally inclined to present themselves online in a carefree way. I’m probably not one of them.
But there’s more to it than just that. They may or may not be juggling the same plates as I am. Their bodies may allow them to sleep at night, and they might be moving through the world pain-free. For someone like me, creating content of any kind often takes days of planning, pacing, rest, and finding the physical and mental energy to actually make it happen. And showing up looking halfway human takes pep talks and layers of preparation that you never see.
Some days, it works out fairly well. More often, it’s done in pieces. A fragment of video here, a couple of paragraphs there, like puzzle pieces scattered out on a kitchen table, waiting to be put together.
So, whenever you see a post of mine – a video, an article, a note on Substack, or a post on my Facebook page, you’ll know it wasn’t something thrown together on a whim. There’s a lot of invisible labor behind every one, and a lot that had to fall into place before I ever clicked “post.”
With every post I make, there are hundreds of micro-moments I didn’t get to share. I had every intention to, I swear.
With you on the journey,
Julie