Y’all, June is special. June feels important. BIG, even! May? May felt rougher than I’d like to admit. I was so excited for the month to be officially over, in fact, that I had trouble sleeping last night.
This is not what I was originally going to write and share here today. At all! Let me explain. I promise if you stick with me in this little essay, I’ll get to a lovely little landing point that you can keep in your pocket as inspiration, motivation, or comfort.
I had a whole plan. I was going to fall asleep early, wake up at 6 am for a nice long walk, meditate, do morning pages, and eat before writing something for you here. It was going to be so thoughtful, and attuned to my divine, creative channel. I was going to take my sweet time pondering, writing, editing, and curating this space for you before I went out into the streets of Richmond to play music for passersby in the hopes of earning some tips.
But that is not what happened.
For some reason, despite the fact that I’m being thrown into a bigger, scarier unknown, and despite the horrors of the modern world that I cannot and will not use my privilege to look away from, last night felt like Christmas Eve.
I can’t explain it, but I felt giddy, in a way that points to some guaranteed magic awaiting just up ahead.
So, of course, I had trouble falling asleep. I’ve never been what my mother would call “a good sleeper.” I find myself quite comfortable in the darkness, while the rest of the world sleeps or moves to the rhythm of their own nocturnal tendency quietly, under cover of the night. There is something secret and special about being awake when you’re not “supposed” to be.
HERE’S SOMETHING I have lamented about with both my therapist and my primary care physician lately when addressing my abnormal sleeping patterns:
It doesn’t matter. As long as I’m getting good sleep and enough sleep, it doesn’t matter what time of day that actually happens.
The idea that we must sleep through the night is not created entirely by, but definitely co-opted and exploited for capitalist gains. Just like our education system, it’s all about creating a labor force that falls in line with what the 1% requires for their continued, unbridled greed to further compound. That’s right! You heard me! Sleep is a scam!
No I love sleep, literally love it, but I have genuinely struggled with what’s considered a normal sleep schedule since I was a child. As such, I have a full arsenal of tips and tricks to try and force myself to sleep, or at least not make the “problem” worse.
Any insomniac can verify rule #1: If you’re not asleep, get out of your bed and do something. Don’t do non-sleep activities like reading, scrolling, or watching TV in your bed. If you do, your brain continues to associate your bed with things besides sleeping, which can really emphasize the struggle.
Personally, I love this. Some of my best and most favorite creations have been born out of a poor night’s sleep.
All witches, creatives, and sensitive souls know: creating at night just hits different.
So, last night, I crawled out of my bed and picked up my notebook. I started writing a poem, which pretty quickly revealed itself to be a song. You can listen to what I wrote on TikTok or Instagram if you’re interested.
By the time I was finished writing and recording it for posterity’s sake, it was about 4:30 am. Sometimes I think sleep is kept from us by the muses, by the gods, by our guides, by our future selves, until we create what we’re meant to create with the magic of the early morning.
Satisfied, I brought my body back into my bed. I turned off the moody lamp on my nightstand. I snuggled down into the covers, finally ready to drift away.
And just at that exact moment, after I had shut all internal systems down after a long day and a longer night, THAT is when I heard THREE LARGE CLAPS outside.
Living in America is fascinating because you can always tell when it’s a gun you’re hearing and not a car backfiring or some other kind of accident producing a sonic boom. We are primed for it. Raised in it. That is not normal.
My eye lids, which had just barely closed, SHOT open, obviously. I crawled further into my bed, closer to the wall. I found myself in the fetal position. Everything when quiet. Birds began to sing. I just lay there, frozen, wondering how close they were. What happened? Three gun shots is not an accident. That is someone shooting something or someone on purpose.
I wanted to call my mom, but we don’t talk anymore, and that is her choice. Is that not something? I am not exactly sure what “something” it is, but I am certain I will figure it out in this space as I continue to write and share little blips of heres and theres with you.
I fell asleep at some point and woke up around 10 am to a text from my friend who was going to join me out on my busking adventure. I have been performing since I was nine years old. I have sang and danced and acted and given speeches in gyms, cafeterias, churches, bar basements, pizza shops, coffee houses, hundred-person auditoriums, and thousand-seat theaters. But I have never just played on the street.
Money is tighter than it has been in many years right now. I spent all of May trying to revive my dead business, Arcadia Lightworking, to no avail. I spent the rest of all of May applying to jobs in communications, non-profits, social media management, and coaching. These are all areas I have extensive experience in. But nothing. Crickets. No one will pay me to do any of the things they used to pay me to do.
I keep having this feeling, this little voice in my head that continues to whisper, “Just go outside and sing for people. That’s all you need to do. Just go outside, and sing. Sing your songs, and the rest will take care of itself.”
My instinct when I woke up four hours later than anticipated, without room any room left in the morning for my routine, was to cancel or delay singing. I need my morning routine. It’s non-negotiable. My morning routine earns my good day. It proves to me that I am disciplined, that I am in touch with myself, that I am worthy of good things happening. My morning routine tells me what to do with my day and guides me to it.
I sat in these beliefs for about five minutes before the words emerged again, “Just go outside and sing for people.”
So I told my friend I’d be a half hour later than we originally planned. I took a shower, got dressed, and packed up my equipment. We met outside of a coffee shop where I set up.
And would you believe it? I made $118 today, plus a ton of connections with people walking by. I sang, mostly originals with a few covers thrown in, for 2 hours, and I made $118.
“Keep writing!”
“You’re really good. You don’t understand, I went all the way back home to get cash to give you. You’re really, really good.”
“You sound incredible."
Little kids dancing. People stopping on the sidewalk across the street and staring. Instagram follows, cheers, dollars.
Is it enough to pay the bills I have due over the next couple of weeks? No. Could it be, if I keep it up? Yeah. Fuck yeah, it could be actually. And it will be. There is no plan B. (Go listen to the song I wrote last night if you didn’t click that link before.)
So, what’s my point here?
Even through the gunshots, the insomnia, the worry, the estranged family, the financial strain and stress, the horrors, there is something here. There is something here who is holding me. Is it god? Maybe. Is it me? Definitely.
We’ve got this.
June is going to be kickass.
Nothing is going according to my plan. I’m tired of trying to keep it all together. So as it falls apart, I’m going to let it. I think that might be exactly where the magic lives, yes?
Thanks for reading this absolute chaos. I have a more thoughtful and concise exploration to share with you tomorrow.
xx Meg
MEG. GOOSEBUMPS! i am thrilled to be along for the ride this magical mystical wondrous june. I know that you know that you are exactly -EXACTLY- where you need to be. It is so powerful to witness you honouring that. THANK YOU <3