Recently I’ve been feeling awash and adrift. Tumbling through the chop, barely keeping my head above water. It’s cold, I can hardly catch my breath, and I don’t know which way is up. I’m really hoping I can reach a riverbank soon, at least for a moment of respite before I get thrown back in.

Last week I finally got the green light to start bearing weight on my left leg, the one with the broken ankle.

It had been six weeks since I’d even touched my toes to the ground. I nearly cried getting my scans done: the X-ray tech was gruff and short-tempered, unable to understand the fear I felt hobbling up two steps on my baby bird foot, naked and unprotected for the first time since surgery.

“Your bedside manner is kind of lacking right now,” I told her.

The catch in my throat made me feel like a baby. She gave a stiff apology and stared at me as I put my boot back on. My own earnest admission nearly made me cry again, but then I got the good news that my ankle was healed enough to bear weight.

I forgot all about our spat and smiled at her with my teeth. In that moment she looked almost scared of me.

Even I was surprised by how swift my change in demeanor was. I had forgotten to look forward to the appointment. I knew it was a big step in my recovery, but I couldn’t really fathom how being able to put some weight on my leg would engender such a strong sense of freedom and agency that, outside of the last six weeks, I had taken for granted my entire life.

I told my therapist the good news—admitting that in hindsight, I wish I could have been kinder to myself during the month and a half I couldn’t put my left foot down.

The whole time I had been stricken by this sense that I was missing an incredible opportunity to really do something with my time. I could write a novel! I could learn a new craft! I could make over my entire life, all from the comfort of my bed, strewn with extra pillows for increased elevation!

The certainty that I could create some sort of Life-Changing Writer’s Retreat out of my non-weight-bearing misery was crushing to me because no matter how much I may have wanted to—and I really wanted to—getting myself to do it proved impossible.

Instead, I watched movies. I took painkillers. I cried. I talked to friends on the phone. I stayed up into the night then slept in past lunch. And throughout all that I kept thinking to myself: come on! Make the most of this!

As I was telling my therapist all of this it occurred to me that there was something to be learned here, something I could bring forward.

“Maybe I can try to remember this feeling for the next few months while I continue to recover—that as frustrating as it is, it’s temporary, and being hard on myself only makes it all worse.”

She smiled back at me over Zoom. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

God, does anything feel better than hearing your therapist say that? Maybe I can just therapize myself from here on out. Send myself voice notes about my problems and then respond thoughtfully back.

It’d save me a little bit of money at least, which is a chief concern at the moment.

I’ve been a victim of All My Eggs Were In One Basket. I gave up my freelance work a couple months back and was supposed to be living out of my van, working the wine harvest in New Zealand after all. Unfortunately, I have no one to blame but myself. Unfortunately, this is not the first time I’ve given up all my freelance clients, flown halfway around the world, only to have the plan not work out.

As always, Tiktok found out what I’m worrying about and started rubbing its grubby little hands together. It is now bombarding me with the worst the app has to offer in terms of get-rich-quick schemes.

One woman is trying to convince me to become a remote data analyst, while some other dude swears I can make six figures producing faceless Youtube videos. I threw my hands up in the air and drank the kool aid for hours the other night. I was up past 2 am, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of these claims, while also clicking through to see how much everyone is charging for the life-changing course they’re schilling.

Sometimes I wonder if other people are actually happy. Am I broken or is this just being alive? I am happy sometimes, for sure, but I feel like I always muck things up by setting joy and satisfaction at a height I can’t reach, not even on my tippy toes—and that’s when both my legs are working!

I try to inspire a sense of wonder and warmth for both myself and the world by watching interviews of people I admire. Have you seen this one with Miranda July?

“I work so hard to keep asking every day, like no but really (slaps herself in the face), what really is interesting?

I remember being in my twenties and shaking myself and being like: you’re asleep at the wheel, remember you’re absolutely free. What do you want to do today?... Wake up, you’re here, you’re actually here.”

I keep rewatching it. I can practically feel her hand slapping my face as she says it: wake up, Katie. What is actually interesting to you right now? You’re here. This is it.

It’s not working as a remote data analyst. It’s certainly not creating faceless, AI Youtube videos under the tutelage of some frat bro named Devon.

It’s a kaleidoscope of things these days. They’re all floating in the river with me, getting churned up and mixed about, and I can grab each one for a little bit and look at it before it gets ripped from my hands again. This is at least keeping things interesting, even if it feels like I’m jumping from puddle to puddle, my fascinations broad but shallow.

Who cares that I’m awash and adrift? I’m alive, and sometimes that just has to be enough.

Honey’s Toolbox is here to help you refill your creative cup and put your ideas into action—from prompts to spark your imagination to gentle nudges that get you moving. Grab a few tools my friend, it’s time to start tinkering alongside your creative spirit.

1. Look at our little planet Earth and cry a bit

Have you ever seen The Day the Earth Smiled? While deep down a rabbit hole about Saturn’s rings, I came across this photo from 2013, when our little planet and our little moon were captured in an image taken from under the shadows of Saturn.

Look at us all down there. Just think—you, everyone you’ve ever known, everyone who has ever lived, has done so on that bright speck in the lower right corner.

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2. Get a creative boost by reading the obituaries

Keith Sawyer, one of the world’s leading researchers on creativity, makes the case for reading the obituaries as the “ultimate creativity hack.” While that phrasing is gross, I love the idea.

“One popular piece of advice for boosting creativity is to learn something new every day. But here’s the catch: this only works if that new information is very different from what’s already in your head.

This is where most of our modern habits fall short. Internet searches, for instance, give you information that’s related to what you already know, or information that you’re already interested in. So, how do you escape that loop and stumble upon something unexpected, something you didn’t even know to look for? The obituaries, obviously.”

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3. Watch some

Miranda July

videos

Like this one from above, this one (another interview), and this one (a charming art video). I don’t know what it is but I love her brain. Here’s another favorite moment from that first video:

“Do it with the reckless part of your heart, do it like you’re drunk. Because that is the only way this sort of thing ever happens.

It’s not through thinking it through like, “oh, well what about the dog?” No, no, it’s always with anger, and lust, and hope—like an anthem. We can have an anthem. We can do that.”

*****

That’s all for now.

Onward,

Katie