Field notes from between timelines

Card pulls, channeling Dr. Phil and Dear Abby, and being stretched like taffy

I pull a card at the start of the week. A leopard jumps through a rainbow on the cover of the Animal Apothecary oracle deck. A way to open to the invisible. It also slows me down, forces me to stop and receive.

An A-type raised in the grumbling belly of NYC, I need little deceleration tricks throughout my day. This is one of them (others include meditating, journaling, matcha tea making, and spontaneous dancing).

Otherwise, I’ll plow through to-do lists, closing loops, which feels so fucking satisfying, like ripping a cuticle off seamlessly, instead of diving into deep work, like writing and imagining the 10x.

I pulled the “phoenix”, raising its blood red wings into the air, behind a full moon. It solidified my position on the verge of a total breakdown transformation. The card said I’m in the space between jumping timelines, warning me not to get caught in the trap of believing my current reality is what lies ahead. I get the feeling this rising from the ashes pull might also be for you (but you can be the judge of that).

It’s hard to know whether to play offense or defense between timelines.

I’m stretched like pink taffy between trusting the unfolding and making it happen.

When it feels like I’m on the Gravitron, the bottom of the floor dropping, my body stuck to the wall as everything spins, I’ve started asking: “What would you have me do?” I free write what comes up, and it’s been like channeling Dr. Phil and Dear Abby all in one. What came through today:

“I’d have you write, and continue to use the space you’ve been given, while reaching out to like-hearted people and residencies, and keep doing what you’re doing. Sit in the energy of millions, and enjoy your fucking life (yes, I curse, fuck it). Stop being so hard on yourself. Easing into all this is part of your process. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Trust yourself, you’re on the right path. Don’t worry — that’s betting against yourself and underestimating us. Trust.”

I immediately felt better.

There is a part of me that’s thirsty, wants to play hard, make it happen already. She’s afraid I’ll confine my dreams to a cell with a toilet and a bed too close to each other. The “could have beens” rob her of sleep.

This savage, let’s-tackle-life-like-Tom-Brady energy is her blind spot. When it’s diffuse, it becomes a dream-blocker. I run so fast that what’s in front of me blurs. I don’t have time to reflect on where I’m trying to go. Also, being in an open, liminal space feels so fucking weird. I’m more comfortable in motion. I need Dramamine when I slow down.

I’m not only feeling a pull between timelines, but also between trusting that the universe has a wilder imagination than I do and manifesting the timeline as an active creative agent.

This looks like staying in the creative process, and just making, with no view of the outcome. I’m learning how to feel safe in that space. Not in days I’ve crammed like I’m fisting a turkey with stuffing.

After eleven months of working as a fractional creative director, I’m still getting used to the roominess of the sudden stop. It’s like being in a huge loft on Grand Street after living in a studio on Canal Street, burnt oil and soy sauce wafting through the air conditioner vents.

So many things could fit into this space.

I don’t want to fill it like a hoarder, blonde Barbie heads and photo albums peeking out of boxes so full they won’t close.

I want to get clear on where to direct my energy: my book, a keynote, and the bat signals I’m sending out, in ways I’m still figuring out, to potential partners and clients.

Even though the answers are here, the over-zealous doer within sighs loudly and drums her fingernails. I feel the pangs of self-doubt, little fists punching my kidneys.

In moments like these, when she gets activated, that love child of a cheerleader and star quarterback, I come back to that question:

What would you have me do?

The answer soothes me like sipping chamomile tea, listening to that Brian Eno track from Industry, and pretzeling on the couch with my lover.

If you’re between jumping timelines, where the efforts of the past have yet to materialize, and itching to fill the space, try asking that question.

See what comes up.

Hit reply and tell me.

I bet your words would take the edge off.

Keep creating,