Prompt 237. Our Endless and Proper Work

& a prompt by David Sutton on what we no longer take for granted

My parents’ attic—where the Isolation Journals was born three years ago

Hi friend,

Yesterday morning, while the sky outside was the dusky blue of dawn and the rest of the house was asleep, I got up, built a fire in the wood stove of my writing shack, made a cup of coffee, and sat down to journal—my first entry of our 30-day journaling project. I was still sleepy, which proved useful, because my inner critic was also still sleepy, and I was able to practice what I’ve been preaching—about not worrying what was coming out and why. My thoughts began flowing in so many directions at once, and I let them unfold as they would.

I journaled about the morning three years ago, when the idea for the Isolation Journals came to me. Only days into lockdown, my friend and now beloved colleague Carmen and I were taking a little break from work, stretching our shoulders in parallel downward dogs, and I turned to her and said out of nowhere, “People are struggling, and I want to start a journaling project to help us through.” It made less than zero sense—I was already overwhelmed with finishing grad school and the final edits on my memoir Between Two Kingdoms. And yet Carmen replied, “Go write that down now!” then hurried me back to the yoga mat. Only days later, the words I jotted down sprang to life.

I journaled about how it doesn’t feel like three years, more like three decades since then, because we’ve been through so much—both the bad and good, traversing both valleys and peaks. I journaled about my dear friends who volunteered their time in those early days to help me bring this project to life, then wrangle it when, much to my excitement but also terror, it had a mini-viral moment and overnight thousands and thousands of people signed up. I journaled about this community, how we’ve grown to more than 120,000 people from 182 countries, and how it feels more alive and vibrant and engaged than ever. It actually astonishes me—because when I sent out that first prompt to my tiny email list, I didn’t have some grand plan. We work hard to make this space as nourishing and beautiful as we can, of course, but the original idea was simple and intuitive. It popped into my head out of nowhere.

Or seemingly out of nowhere—it’s probably not a coincidence that the idea arrived in that moment of stillness. For us to hear our own intuition, we need quiet and space, and getting back to my journal yesterday reminded me, “Oh, this is it.” I found it deeply grounding, calming, energizing, and clarifying. I’m reminded now of the line by Mary Oliver: “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.”

That’s what the journal affords me. It allows me to do our endless and proper work—the holy and whole-making work—of noticing and naming, whether it’s anger at my circumstances, or the voice telling me, “You’re not good enough” or “You’re not writing enough” or “Who are you to lead a journaling project when you yourself always struggle with consistency?” That act of noticing is powerful, even transformative. It lets you step out of the morass of your own mind and see the world around you in a different light. You become the handler of your fears and feelings, not the handled.

Today, we have a stunning example of this, from the writer and photographer and Isolation Journals community member David Sutton. In a hospital recovery room, he used his journal in one of my favorite ways—as a reporter’s pad, rendering a difficult moment with humor, strength, and beauty. I’m so excited to share it with you.

Off to tackle the blank page,
Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• To celebrate the third anniversary of the Isolation Journals, and to mine the benefits of a daily creative practice, just yesterday we kicked off our 30-day journaling project. It’s not too late to join—find more details here!

• This month’s meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour, is going to be an extra special one. It’s scheduled for Sunday, April 16, from 1-2 pm ET—exactly halfway through our 30-day project—and yours truly will be hosting! Mark your calendar!

Textile art by Tiny Pricks Project

Prompt 237. I Fall in Love by David Sutton

Just now, I’ve fallen deeply in love with the man in the curtain-séparée adjacent to mine in the recovery area here at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. He’s recovering from his third brain surgery. When he arrived here in recovery, he was moaning and sighing in pain, and confused by his uncomfortable catheter. Whenever he makes a sound or speaks, I reflexively look in his direction, but I can’t see him. Instead, I see the beige curtain with a vine pattern, butterflies perched on the vines.

I’m here today recovering from anesthesia needed to perform a spinal imaging test called a myelogram. My beloved Mary Beth and I are spending a bit of extra time in recovery, because my neurosurgeon wants to admit me directly to the hospital for tomorrow’s surgery, and we must wait for a bed to be arranged. The facility is overstuffed with beautifully compassionate, highly skilled professionals. They have names like Noz, Kat, Jasper, Wouter, Tati, Rachel, and Marcel.

And now I’ve fallen in love with my neighbor’s neurology nurse, who I’ll hear but never see, and who has just given my neighbor Dilaudid. She has taken away his pain and converted his moaning into singing. He’s giving delightfully silly, improv-worthy answers to her neurological assessment questions and to her questions about his needs. He hums while she asks, then he answers in a sing-song voice.

Nurse: Do you want some ice?

Him: Is it Häagen Dazs?

Nurse: Sure. Häagen Dazs ice. (Pause.) What flavor is it?

Him: Gutter.

Nurse (later): Do you want some more gutter Häagen Dazs?

Him: Yea.

Nurse (later): How do you feel?

Him: Well, my head hurts. My hand hurts. And my pecker hurts. (With delight:) That’s all!

I am so deeply grateful. The condition I have is uncommon, to be sure, and it involves my spine and my brain. Beginning in 2007, it dogged me and made things difficult for five awful years while doctors tried to decipher my malady. At last they discovered a cerebrospinal fluid leak behind my heart and made an effective repair.

Then I was well. An amazing decade of growth and happiness sped by. Whenever somebody would ask me how I was, I would answer “well” every time, conscious as never before of the depth and meaning of wellness, the grace involved in being in a position to say that.

Recently, the condition returned. I have been anxious.

But now we’re on top of things. Mine is a simple, cleanly diagnosed condition with a clear path forward. My caregiver this time is the best there is. He has a sweet, dry, Dutch sense of humor and kind, blue eyes.

My time frame for treatment is now. The recovery time is weeks, not months or years. My prospects, unlike my neighbor’s, are for a full recovery, practically guaranteed.

There will be discomfort, to be sure, but it will be discomfort born like the beating of new wings against the walls of a holy chrysalis. Knowing this, having my love at my side, and imagining the next ten years, makes the pain much easier to bear.

Your prompt for this week: 

Write about something you once took for granted, but no longer do.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s Contributor–

David Sutton is a photographer, writer, builder, singer, songsmith, and cigar box guitar (CBG) aficionado based in Evanston, Illinois. He’s written and photographed two books about building CBGs, Cigar Box Guitars and Obsessed with Cigar Box Guitars. He recently released an album of songs called From Gold to Brown to Blue, which features CBG songs by German pop star Friedel Geratsch, curated, translated, reimagined, and sung in English by Sutton. And he’s currently recording an album of original CBG songs, while still enjoying his day job of the past thirty years—celebrating the deep and meaningful relationships people have with their pets in whimsical art photos.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• The 30-Day Journaling Project, where together as a community we’re exploring the art of journaling and all that it can contain

• On Writing Yourself Home, a video replay of our Studio Visit with the Whiting Award-winning memoirist Nadia Owusu, where we discussed using our journals as creative source material, writing through trauma, and memoir as a radical reclaiming of the self

• Show Up and the Muse Will Too, a reflection on building creative muscle memory from our last 100-day project

  

If you’re new here—hi, I’m Suleika!

I’m the author of the memoir Between Two Kingdoms, a New York Times bestseller, as well as the Emmy Award-winning column “Life, Interrupted,” which I wrote from my hospital bed when I was undergoing cancer treatment in my early 20s. I’m also a lifelong journaler, a practice that got me through my first bout with leukemia and is helping me navigate a second.

I founded the Isolation Journals in April of 2020, and it’s grown into a vibrant community of over 120,000 people from all over the world—all looking to transform life’s interruptions into creative grist. My dear friends Carmen Radley and Holly Huitt help steward this little corner of the internet, which is big-hearted and smart and just plain wonderful.

If you have questions, you can check out our FAQ—or write to us at suleika@theisolationjournals.com.