New Moon in Capricorn, An Update

I used to share gratitude lists a few years ago (a Things I Love column on Thursdays, because, alliteration). It’s Tuesday, which means the alliteration still works—and how kismet, then, that on the night of the new moon in Capricorn, I feel an intense urge to write lists. All kinds: packing lists (I’m off to QVC Friday night for two segments this weekend), gratitude lists, intentions lists, goals lists.

The list goes on.

As tempting as it is to fall back on something familiar—in this case: a comfortable, easy to write, even easier to digest post—I’m tired of half-formed thoughts and bite-sized entries made emphatic by bullet points. I spend at least eight hours a day preoccupied with words, but I don’t get the chance submerge myself in them: Beauty copywriting, though a perfect intersection between passion and profession, is a specific skill set based on pattern and limited by regulation. It poses a creative challenge professionally, but it isn’t fulfilling spiritually.

To be clear: I say the latter without reference to denomination or New Age spirituality. And let it be known that I don’t expect my career to serve as my be-all and end-all; I’m lucky to work in an industry I love doing something I adore. What I need is the ability to stretch my wings—and the fact that I’ve had to fall back on a tired idiom proves just how out of practice I am. I miss it, but I’m intimidated by it. I want to put pen to paper (or in this case, key to screen), but sentences escape me. Anything I write—including this—irritates me. I sound elementary at best, juvenile at worst.

Navel-gazing as all this is, it’s purely an observation of things as they are. Realization is motivation, and I’m happy to report that 16 days into 2018, I’ve successfully written every single day. None of it is worth reading—but it’s important to note that none of it was written for consumption. With this realization came a greater one: the freedom felt in creating solely for my own pleasure/sanity is immense. It’s been years since I haven’t framed everything with the intent for production. Everything was done for work (therefore, literally for public consumption), a performance, this space, or any of my social media platforms.

Still, I’m grateful for this space. A Bit Coquettish, specifically. I would be lying if said I didn’t care that this little web diary of mine flies so under the radar (I’m pretty sure my parents and boyfriend are responsible for the views)—but the silver lining is the freedom to explore. (Freedom is an underlying theme of the month.) Because there’s no pressure to produce, I come only when I feel inspired, and I hibernate when stuck. I’m human, not a machine.

I’m a human that works twelve hour days, though. Fabulous for my work ethic, not so great for me, the woman who’s wrung dry. For years I’ve blurred boundaries to the point where my work has become both my identity and my life—so starting this year, I’m working on separating the two. The mantra: I do, not am. This is how I’ll find my self again, and be able to give more to both my day job and my side hustle.

Plus, I want a little more time to delve into other platforms. YouTube may be in the future; because why the hell not. I have no aspirations of being on every single outlet—writing has and will always where I feel most comfortable—but I’m tired of contentedness. Again: itching to spread my wings, test the waters. Until then, you can watch me dance or talk my derriere off about skincare, if you’re so inclined.

In addition to writing daily and (attempting) to achieve a work-life balance, I’ve been recharging in order to recalibrate. Which means: burning Diptyque candles without abandon, having a night out for once in what feels like ages, and indulging. Since the New Year, I’ve received not one, but two pink boxes tied up in a black bow—are you interested in seeing my recent acquisitions? Why don’t more people share their lingerie collections? (Rhetorical question, with a very solemn answer: creepy men. It’s a shame, given how beautiful they are and just how much joy they can bring the woman wearing it, partner or no partner, and we could all stand to learn a little more about the undergarments are closest to being second skin.) I’m awaiting two cheeky purchases, both coats, because the winter has infiltrated every fiber of my being. Everything I do is to stay warm, apparently, which explains the need for excessive outerwear shopping and eating. When I came up with my Release/Recalibrate list, I wasn’t expecting temperature in the negatives.

I’m hibernating, sue me. When the weather becomes more reasonable, so will I. Until then, I have zero desire to put on any real clothes when forced to venture outside my home—and I’m perfectly okay with it. Beautiful loungewear helps, FYI. So does a good movie and a cup of tea (I highly recommend The Shape of Water).

Until next time—

 

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xx

(image via)