I don’t know what to write about. It’s hard to think of anything other than this brutal DANA storm that’s thrown the Valencia region into chaos. People have lost everything, people who’ll take ages to rebuild their lives, and I feel guilty if I even think about reflecting on anything else. That’s how I feel—though sometimes I wonder if I should try to flip the switch. Life goes on. Life just goes on, with more force than we have, because it’s like a current that won’t stop; sure, you can build up all kinds of walls—excuses, distractions, complaints—but sooner or later, it’ll get to you and sweep you away.
Four or five years ago, I learned that I couldn’t just wait until I’d cleared my to-do list to be able to leave the studio. Until then, I’d lived with the stress of thinking I had to leave everything spotless before I could head home.
Raise your hand if you don’t have at least one corner full of mud. The other passengers on this bus pretend not to hear me, but deep down, in that hidden place where the light doesn’t reach, they know what I’m talking about. There’s always work to be done. Always. Whether you do it or put it off for another day depends on just one thing: you.
Four or five years ago, I learned that I couldn’t just wait until I’d cleared my to-do list to be able to leave the studio. Until then, I’d lived with the stress of thinking I had to leave everything spotless before I could head home. Or if a client called and asked for something urgent, I’d do it right away. I couldn’t say, “I can’t, I’m busy with something else today,” or “I can’t, I’m clocking out in an hour because I’ve got Pilates,” or just “I can’t.” Because honestly, why should they care about why I can’t?
This “I Can’t” thing is the Big Issue. I remember devoting entire therapy sessions just to try to get some order around it. What does “I can’t” even mean? How can I let myself say “I can’t” when I could just get up an hour earlier and get it all done in the morning, and everyone’s happy? I felt like a complete liar saying “I can’t” when I technically “could” skip Pilates or get up early and design whatever it was they needed by the next day.
Even though I’ve got a better handle on it now, I have to admit there’s still a part of me that thinks if I’ve managed to keep regular projects, it’s partly because I’m so willing to sacrifice myself for work. A sacrifice that, sure, neoliberalism probably cheers on wildly, but that anyone with common sense would see as a pretty clear call for therapy. Where does this obsession with pleasing clients come from, this need to make such a good impression—even if it means putting them ahead of my own well-being? Why this urge to please? What am I afraid of?
The H6 bus has stopped at a red light. On the wall outside my window, there’s a white sign with orange letters: Excavations and Demolitions, followed by a landline and a mobile number. And the idea that someone could tear down an entire apartment building with the press of a button makes me think about all of us who’ve built careers on shaky ground, always crossed by uncertainty. Maybe my urge to please clients came from other fears, but I’m sure it was also a symptom of a deeper worry that some setback could, at any moment, take down the studio I’ve managed to build between two streets with names that conjure storms: Torrent de l’Olla and Torrent de les Flors*.
Best regards from the H6 bus,
Ingrid
*The names “Torrent de l’Olla” and “Torrent de les Flors” refer to two streets in Barcelona, Spain. “Torrent” means “stream” or “brook” in Catalan
