Day 1: The Embodiment Experiment
Today’s takeaway: Find playmates who play as weird as you do.
I write this from my writing station # 2 corner. The office by day has officially become the creative studio by night.
I’m currently perched against the wall with a big comfy pillow propped behind my back, another one propped on my lap holding my spiral notebook, my legs stretched out onto the round side table that holds my lamp, candles, and various little tchotchkes. The house is quiet and the day has been full.
A thought came to me today concerning my office/studio. I’d like to invest in this space. Funky lights, candles, rugs, things that make it feel intentional. Not because a creative space has to look a certain way, but because I want my environment to reflect what I am choosing to build:
A place where I make cool, interesting, funky things.
With that thought we can dive into Day 1, let’s start with some clear context.
I am currently unemployed.
I left my serving job at the end of May and have been using this time to sit with a much bigger question: What on earth am I going to do next?
Before all of this, I was an international educator working in bilingual early childhood development. Teaching was never something I chose because it was my lifelong dream. It was simply a vehicle. It allowed me to travel, experience different cultures, and build a life full of variety, movement, novelty, and a whole breadth of experience.
And while teaching was not my forever path, I did love my students. I loved the creativity, the relationships, and the magic of working with young children.
But the practical demands and expectations of the job left me deeply burnt out and disillusioned with the systems surrounding education.
Hence, I now find myself here. In a single-wide trailer in southern Louisiana. A place that was not part of the original plan, but somehow became the place where I am rebuilding.
The question keeps coming back: What on earth do I do next?
Funnily enough (maybe not so funny), every time I check in with that quiet little voice inside me, the answer I get is stunningly simple:
Write.
In fact, this is how the conversation usually goes:
“What is the next step?”
“Write.”
“Okay yes, but what is the next step for work?”
“Write.”
“Yes, thank you, I understand. More specifically, how do I support myself while I am doing this writing?”
“Write.”
And this is usually where I flip a mental table and then dutifully go sit down and write.
Which is both exciting and deeply inconvenient because… how exactly does one build a life around writing?
It makes me think of the scene in Shrek where Shrek and Donkey are walking to the castle to rescue the princess and the path is littered with the bones of fallen suitors who attempted the same quest. How many people have tried to walk this path and not made it? The statistics are not exactly comforting. Which begs the question, am I Ogre-y enough?
I fear the answer to this question may be yes, and I’m not entirely sure what that says about me.
I digress.
As I explained in Day 0, this project is my dedication to stop fighting the uncertainty and start documenting the process. To be an investigator of the in-between. A cartographer of the messy middle. The mad scientist who devotes themself to experimenting. The “If not this, then that. If not that, then this” toggling pendulum of discovery.
You get my point.
Happily, I am able to report that today was a great start for Day 1.
Our mornings can often be defined and predicted by our previous evenings, and one thing I’m learning about myself is that I am naturally a night owl. My best work tends to happen when the world goes quiet and I have uninterrupted space to think, create, and follow a thread. The challenge, and my original point being, is that this can also mean late mornings.
Last night I went to bed around 2:00 am and today I woke up around 10:00am. After coffee, morning pages, and getting myself moving, my walk happened later than ideal. Louisiana summer heat is no joke, but I still got outside and completed my three miles. A shorter but shadier route, I allowed it.
Upon coming home drenched in sweat, thoroughly parched, and thanking God for functioning AC, I made my first exposure move of the day.
I reached out to a contact who works in technical writing for a government agency. She shared some really valuable insight about technical writing and proposal writing, and while it wasn’t a direct job lead, it opened up a possible path that actually feels aligned with my strengths: Writing. Communication. Clarity. Translating complexity.
Que interesante…
From there, I had an hour on the clock to complete and submit a job application. Right now I’m exploring mission-driven and nonprofit opportunities. My challenge is learning how to translate my teaching experience into new corporate jargon, which is a hoot. It’s so very pretentious, which honestly just tickles me. Today I found a remote project management role that actually felt interesting. I was almost finished with the application when I saw the sentence:
“Use your cover letter as a writing sample. Tell us something original that makes you stand out.”
In a nutshell: Dance monkey.
You’d think a bomb had gone off inside of me.
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In retrospect, I don’t think what inflamed me was being asked to write the cover letter itself. It was the feeling of being asked to perform. To create something thoughtful and personal for an organization that may never acknowledge the application at all.
And yet, after sitting with that reaction, I realized maybe there is another way to approach it. Maybe I stop treating every application like a test of my worth. Maybe I play. Maybe I experiment. Maybe I say what it is that I want to say, how I want to say it, and test alignment that way.
An honest and forthright way.
Tomorrow, it is decided that this precious organization is going to get exactly what they asked for: A memorable cover letter.
After leaving my computer, I could feel the fear underneath the frustration and the uncertainty tugging at me again with the usual fretting question “What if this doesn’t work?” followed by the mind panicking and creating impressively detailed stories about everything going wrong.
That voice, as we all know, is so very convincing.
Hopefully, we are learning that it is not truthful.
So I asked for the quieter voice. The kinder more compassionate one.
And it simply said,
“Hello.”
Bright and airy. A tiny clear-eyed smile on its sweet nonexistent face.
A silent thought sent back,
“I need some help.”
And instead of giving me a solution, the response was:
“I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder, just so you know I’m right here with you.”
And that was the moment the tears came. A good full-on release cry.
Nothing was fixed or assured, but there was a very real and understanding presence that met me in that moment. I felt witnessed and held while standing in the unknown.
This season is teaching me something.
I have always had the next thing. Another country. Another job. Forward motion and momentum. The ability to make things work out.
Whatever that skill was, it got me here.
But it is not the skill I want to build my next chapter around.
This is the first time I have really had to sit in:
Where, when, how, what is the next thing?
And maybe that is the work. Learning how to stay connected to myself before the answer arrives. Learning how to act from a centered place, rather than running at everyone and everything full speed.
After the movie tonight, I came home, ate leftovers, and worked on another stanza of my children’s book.
It’s in the falling action stage, and it’s taking longer than I expected.
The entirety of the book flowed up until this point. Now it requires daily, consistent action. Small steps forward. These final stanzas that complete the story are not perfect. But they are good enough.
I’m learning how to let that just be.
Something I’d like to share that I believe sums up my day today:
When I was watching the movie, the main premise is that Bonnie, the little girl who plays so delightedly with her toys, is known to “play differently.”
The toys know her. They know that she’ll need a special playmate who can meet her at that level.
The movie explores the process of finding that playmate amidst the uprising and takeover of “the screens.”
(The horror!) But as a former teacher… like, really though.
As I further reflect on why I’m doing this, I think another way to put it is this:
I want to sharpen my voice and determine my true edges.
Where I used to be flexible, palatable, blurry even, I think I’m dedicating myself to becoming more exact, precise, and honest.
I’m using this project as a lighthouse to declare: This is who I am and this is how I want to show up and move through the world. And then to send that signal out into the world clearly and unapologetically.
“Libby plays different.” And by George, she wants to find her proper playmates.
That sounds weird, but I’m going to leave it here.
With that, I sign off on Day 1. It is 12:46am.
We’ll work on it.
