Rest & Risk: A Chaotic Pendulum

How journaling transformed these adjectives from negative self-beliefs to radical acceptance.

Enjoying our near-empty Nashville house for a few weeks.

A Creative Winter

Since April, I've been experiencing a creative winter. A creative winter is the quiet between projects. It's when the last leaf of effort falls from the inspired branch and hibernation begins. The first breath of rest is peaceful, with a belly full of rewarding experiences that sustains the coldness and isolation that can follow.

Almost. Because it's only a matter of time before the creative tree begins to bud again, ready to explode with new growth, dimension, and color. And yet, it's the natural intersection of time and favorable conditions that ultimately decides when it's appropriate for the tree to bloom.

As a native Chicagoan, I've lived through many a "false spring" where a short period of warm weather tricks us into thinking winter is over. My artistic false spring was a grant award for a series of educational summer workshops for youth, recreational aerialists, and professional dancers. But thanks to an arts funding landscape that is too frustrating to delve into, the project has been postponed.

So instead of attaching myself to a single project to regulate and guide my creative growth, I channeled my energy—and lack thereof—elsewhere. I attended the Los Angeles Contemporary Dance Company's Choreographic Institute. I traveled to Chicago and Nashville for a month. I taught aerial classes, I took other people's classes, I connected with other artists. I got really sick twice in three weeks. I lay on a mattress in an empty house, reading Joan Didion while eating from a Lucky Charms box. Bursts of energy were marked by an urgent need to crash. While this pattern isn't new to me—I have a genetic disease that causes several debilitating conditions—I hit a new low attempting to manage my unpredictable health with my professional practice.

To cope, I started journaling. I scribbled like I hadn't written in years. I forgave my body's nagging failures during times when I needed it to stay strong. I uncovered hidden figments of my story, melting away the mourning of what could have been, and feeling giddy about what actually is. Through writing this stream of consciousness, I began to adopt a different, gentler approach to the relationship between my work and my condition.

A Spring of Inspiration

What emerged from this process wasn't a brand-new methodology or tool for disease management; instead, it was a reframing of this corporeality that had existed in and around my work for years. To mark this shift in season, I rewrote my artistic statement:

I work as a choreographer, educator, performer, and creative producer across contemporary dance, aerial, film, and live events. My aerial dances invite rest and risk to coexist in brave, supportive ecosystems. Through this practice, I explore how movement can transform our relationships to our bodies, our dis/abilities, and our capacity for joy.

My aerial dances invite rest and risk to coexist. The Lazy Aerialist moniker was a cheeky name born out of my love of floorwork and hesitancy to learn elevated acrobatic skills due to the variability of my disease. Now, for the first time in my life, I can explore their cohabitation with a patient and analytical mind. Lazy is Rest. Aerialist is Risk. And the symbiotic relationship is what defines my work.

Through this moment of radical acceptance, I reflected deeper into the words I've often used to describe myself:

• A swamp

• Lazy

• Chaotic

These words carry a negative weight. But what is the other side of their coin? The parts we often overlook?

• Swamp – Resilient. Malleable. Untamed.

• Lazy – Quiet. Relaxed. Rested.

• Chaotic – Sensitive. Dynamic. Risky.

Once I acknowledged these qualities, my Type A brain kicked into high gear, going into scheduling mode. Rest can happen in these moments, artistic Risk can happen on these days. I tried to map out a schedule to achieve some sort of balance, honoring my variable body. Then I stopped in my tracks when I saw a little toy on my dad's coffee table. It was a Chaos Pendulum.

A Chaotic Pendulum 

If you're like me and didn't study dynamical systems in physics, here's the gist from Wikipedia.

A chaos pendulum (or double pendulum) is a pendulum with another pendulum attached to its end. It creates a complex system that's highly sensitive to initial conditions. The motion is governed by a pair of coupled differential equations and is considered chaotic.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7TVWKDRai8

Resonating with this system brings me a sense of ease. I am not alone in this experience; there is a scientific model that affirms my closely coupled, complex, and sensitive system, and perhaps yours too. Rest and Risk will never balance in life and work. One will always influence the other, in ways that are unpredictable, sometimes disruptive, and often exciting.

Through this new practice of honoring the unpredictable, I can find the courage to continue through these creative seasons. Embracing the chaos as it vacillates between vulnerability and strength.

Workshop Moment: Journaling Prompt

In my classes, I have what I call “Workshop Moments” where a movement is introduced and each participant independently studies how the movement is translated in their bodies. I want to broaden Workshop Moments to a different physical practice: journaling, and here is a prompt to get started. 

What are “negative” words you use to describe yourself or your creative practice? Write them down in a list. Ideally, by hand, not typed. Next to each word, assign as many positive associations as you can imagine. Then spend five minutes reflecting on how these words make you feel. If possible, suspend judgment. Give yourself grace.

With Care, 

Sarah

Creative Credits

From my time with Becca Lemme at the Choreographic Institute to my friend’s Welcome Table newsletter to Suleika Jaouad’s new book, The Book of Alchemy, one thing is for sure: journaling is in the zeitgeist.

Journaling was once a sacred practice for me, and thanks to these influences, I have reconnected with this lost form of healing expression. 

Thank you, Becca, Kendall, and Suleika.