The time I’d normally dedicate to late-night journal writing has been, well, hijacked by a new creative obsession—a medium that offers a more subtle release of emotions in an age of not-so-subtle mayhem.
A few weeks ago, while digging around in the basement storage, I found a dried-up watercolor palette I can only assume the previous homeowners left behind.
Watercoloring is new and strange and something I’m quite unfamiliar with. That’s partly why I seem to be so drawn to it these days. When things aren’t going so well in my personal life, I instinctually crave some kind of minor change in routine, in practice, even in physical appearance.
I can’t go get a haircut, but I did finally dye my roots at home. I also rearranged some furniture in my room and am trying out this night owl thing again. I miss my early mornings dearly, but it’s not nearly as lovely to wake up before the sun and have nowhere to go.
Water and I have had a unique relationship since the pandemic hit—and even before then, when I was first reeling with a bad bout of my chronic spine nerve pain. As I’ve written several times over, writing has been a physical challenge for the past few months as a result of the injury. It’s difficult to sit up or stand up straight. I’ve often felt helpless and guilty emailing editors for deadline extensions again and again and again. But I’m learning to be patient with my body.
Once the temperatures began reaching the high 60s, I thought about getting in the water. I’m at my parents’ place, where I’ve been since the fall. As much grief as I gave them for buying a massive home for no one but four or five people at a time, having access to a swimming pool in the backyard has been the ultimate privilege—even if Lady and I are the only ones to indulge.
After the first dip or two of the season, I realized that spending a few hours fully submerged in the water every day—and swimming nonstop for about half the time—was giving my body and my spine a little bit of strength back. My physical therapist sent me some underwater exercises to help, too.
For several hours after a swim, I can sit on my tailbone without squirming in pain. I can get through an hour long Zoom conference call without a dose of Tylenol. I can bend my back again, pick up the laundry, put dog food in the bowls without asking mom for help. I can commit to professional writing opportunities again.
On any given day, if the sun’s out, I typically spend between 2-4 hours in the water. I’ve found a new sense of confidence floating beneath the surface, and even overcame my lifelong fear of deep water. My body feels good. It feels sore, but the right kind of sore in the right kinds of places.
Water has essentially been keeping me afloat.
Still, when I picked up that dried-up watercolor palette and cheap Five Below paintbrush, I wasn’t prepared for what else water had up its sleeve.
So much of watching water play with paint reminds me of free writing, a pre-writing technique meant to encourage writers to surrender control, let go of insecurities and pen without constraint. It’s all so similar to the flow of watercoloring, the intuition, the submerging in paper and the converging with pigment, the addition of hue after hue to make magic. The way words do.
—fiza
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