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.