On a New Life With Infinite Time

Montana has afforded us both with a huge change of pace and lifestyle—in short, an entirely new life. Jared works at a local microbrewery, just a 20-mile lakeside drive away. He was hired as a part-time bartender four months ago, which quickly turned into full-time, and has now morphed into a position as assistant brewer. He’s learning the tricks of the trade from the master brewer, which, to his slight dismay, mostly involves an intimate knowledge of chemistry and math. But this is his dream job, and, to our great delight, it has the distinct possibility of turning into a lifetime career.

And I, by chance, now work as a freelance writer. I’ve always wanted to work from home and have lots of extra time, so this also seems like a dream come true. I end up working maybe a week or two per month, which means that I have copious periods of time to devote to absolutely anything I want. What I’ve actually discovered from all this freedom is that sloth is one of my biggest vices. Instead of making art, I sleep in every day. I spend my time cleaning and reading more than I have since childhood. Not to say that’s a bad thing. I remember writing a friend about a year and a half ago, still overwhelmed by my intensely demanding job of the time, and telling her of my greatest wish: to sit on a couch all day, and read and watch movies. So I got what I wished for. But it seems empty.

I justify my lack of activity by maintaining that our 300 square foot apartment doesn’t afford any extra space for art making. Which is true. But it’s also just a good excuse for me to distance myself from my fears. To live in quiet denial. Because to start making art again would mean embracing a way of life that I abandoned two years ago. It would mean allowing myself to enter in vulnerability. It would mean giving myself permission to make absolute crap. Or, even more terrifying, it would mean allowing myself to possibly create something beautiful and inspired. Ultimately, it would mean giving up control, submitting myself to the Greater. Which, I think, is what I fear the most.

Cha-cha-cha-cha-changes

I have, characteristically and once again, been absent for almost a year. In which many changes have happened. Of which the main one is, I now live in Montana. Here is a good summary, by way of my website:

A recent college graduate with a BFA in studio art, C.Hanlon decided to quit her job, pack up everything she owns, including her husband and cat, and move from Los Angeles to small-town Montana. Biding her time before Graduate school, she is looking for a day job and making art as a defense mechanism, specializing in fiber based sculptures and general enigmatic reclusion.

Except that I haven't been making much art lately, and am not really looking for a day job anymore as I have fairly recently taken up freelance writing as my new profession. Small town life suits us well, and we are certainly enjoying our beautiful surroundings. Winter has been long but bearable, and we survived without any adverse side affects -- contrary to popular opinion and forecast. Spring is filtering in now, and our days alternate between beautiful and cloudless, and rainy and overcast. Today, unfortunately, is the latter, and the rest of the week promises to be so as well.

We have added a new cat to our little family. She goes by Mrs. B (inspired by Beatrice Potter), as she tends toward a stocky, British demeanor. Fhloston Paradise is still with us, and resents her new housemate less and less these days. I rejoice in their daily accomplishments.

Here they dare to touch paws.