My new thing is like... just taking a minute to make a decision?
A story about almost moving across the country again but then not doing that.
Hello from the furthest gate that’s ever existed in the history of airports. Gate B5 in Terminal 3 at Pearson Airport is in another dimension. Pretty sure I’m already halfway to the west coast.
Things have been a little wild (internally) in the last four months. In November, I decided to do what I always do when I’m feeling stagnant and cagey and afraid that I’m letting my life slip by me: I decided to catapult myself into a rash and dramatic life change by not renewing my lease in Toronto (where I have mostly lived for 13 years other than the alternate-universe season when I moved to San Francisco in a rash and dramatic fashion) and move to Vancouver (where I was born and raised and where my family lives, but I have never lived as an adult) in mid-January.
I’ve spent the last few years intensely concentrated on my writing, and working hard to figure out how to make a living from this creative work. To my bewilderment, my work has been resonating, and I feel like I’m building a community of tender hearted, hilarious, kindred people. It’s been rewarding and scary and strange. I feel like I’m making a lot of it up as I go, especially the business stuff. There has been this vague target I’m heading towards, an orb-like glow calling me closer, but I don’t know its full shape. I’ve had many moments of overwhelming doubt, like, “wait, WHAT am I even doing? Am I crazy to think this is a life? Where am I going with this? And how do I get there?”
This past year, I’ve been constantly teetering on the edge of burn-out, singeing my fingers on its border. Not exactly the best conditions for anyone, let alone writer-poets who need ample space to meander in their thoughts and feelings. The impossible continues to happen: I am making a life and living out of my art. And, finding myself in the impossible, I’ve found myself disoriented, caught in a wave, trying to find the ground. Or, I guess, much more life-saving: the air above the water.
Now I find myself with this job that exists inside my brain (which I mostly take everywhere) and on a computer and through the magic of Zoom and someday [very soon, fingies crossed] a book that will be in your hands. I don’t have a boss offering a move to New York with a new role. No work gets done unless I do it. I’m in charge of the trajectory of this whole thing. There are places I love full of people I love, and people I would miss if I left. Also: I can do whatever I want, and go wherever I want to. This naturally leads to the seemingly unanswerable question: where then do I want to be?
So back to November: my lease was ending and none of the literary agents I was emailing were writing me back and dating was mostly a nightmare (okay that’s a bit dramatic) and I was tired and unsure if I actually had what it takes to make it to that orby glow and maybe, most terrifying of all, I might just not be good enough. Everything was intangible and hypothetical and stagnant. More than being tired of the stillness, I was avoiding it completely. So I flicked over a domino to make something happen for myself, which also seemed ~cool~ and dramatic, to get rid of my stuff AGAIN and move across the country AGAIN with very short notice or planning (or, key component, figuring out how I really felt about it or what the truest motivation for it was). But barrel towards the move I did.
I was with my family in BC over the holidays, and everyone kept asking me how I felt about The Big Move. But there was no feeling; a domino had simply been pushed. A decision had been made. I wondered if the lack of feeling of any kind was what centred, grounded decision making felt like; am I analytical now? Or am I completely detached from my heart and guts?
I’ve been examining the whole idea of “right” and “wrong” decisions - is this the kind of thing that could be “right” or “wrong”? There is the city I know and love, and the coast I feel akin to. Everywhere: people who hold me up all the time. There are many beautiful things that are unique to each place, like being close to family, or starting over in a fresh place, or not starting over yet again, or being close to the ocean.
Moving to Vancouver now is not wrong. Staying in Toronto for now is not right. But making a massive life change because I am doubting my work and uncertain about a few things about the big picture and feeling apathetic in a lot of areas of my life and feeling like I’m waiting forever for answers/ vision/ something to happen is not the place from which I want to make decisions.
After really sitting with myself, slowing down and examining the questions under the question, the want under the want, I realized that the thing I want most this year is to get my book out into the world, and if that’s the goal, then I need to make my time and space and focus about making that happen, including prioritizing sleep and saying no to a lot of things and staying with the work even though it’s hard. A cross-country move and the aftermath that comes from uprooting would keep me preoccupied from finding an agent and finishing a book proposal. And even deeper than all that, moving across the country doesn’t solve any of the insecurity, doubt, flailing, or stagnancy, it’s a distraction.
What I actually needed was a break: some time to coil into my inner world. Time close to family as we welcome my sister’s baby boy who is on his way in the coming weeks. Time near the water, which feels so grounding. Time to explore a city I grew up in proximity to but actually haven’t spent any time in. Time to reflect on the way I’ve been spending my time and structuring my work and maybe make some adjustments. Time to listen to whatever my heart needs to say. Time to try as much west coast coffee as my little heart can handle. So time I will take.
I have a tendency to create chaos for myself as a way to stir up big feelings. I am, in a way, simulating a passionate life full of meaning, when in reality it’s a lot of anxious mess. I make reactionary decisions, trying to find the thing that feels the most alive, and then slowly come back to myself and readjust after (like I’m doing now).
I want to learn how to do it differently: I want to prove to myself that I trust myself, and not say yes to any little thing that shows up. I want to take all the time in the world to sit at a crossroads. I want to not respond before I have my answer. I want to show myself that my inner yes or no or not yet is wise and enough.
xo jess.
Ways to connect
Poetry Club is Tuesday, February 28th, and included in a paid substack subscription!
New March workshop will be announced on Monday!
Office Hours are available for one-on-one feedback and support of your work!
If you are a community facilitator in Vancouver and have events going on this month, I would love to be extroverted with you! Send me a message at jessjanz@gmail.com
Coming home to oneself in a grounded space and making decisions from that place takes work, faith and patience. You’ve got this Jess xo ♥️
Thank you for this. This is not the same, but resonates - my latest impulsive, chaotic move was a way-too-short haircut that I didn’t actually want. Boy, did that shake things up, but not in the way I wanted to, and I’m still trying to rebuild trust with myself six months later. I hadn’t taken the time to investigate “the want under the want” - and there are so many rich, more meaningful desires hidden under whatever I think my haircut says about me, that I can only inch closer towards through intentional action, not a cosmetic change (change of scenery). Thank you for this framing, and the reminder that there’s always a steady current underneath the turbulent waves - we just have to slow down enough to listen.