Complicated Feelings: Improvisation

It is the apex of May and I have come to a realization. Last night I made a few gut choices as I waited for the bus on my way home from work. For reasons that are likely simple – general frustration, credit card debt, working out on an empty stomach – I felt myself sink into what can only be described as spiritual unwellness. I had a ticket to see Ocean Vuong in discussion at Sixth & I Synagogue, which I had been anticipating for weeks, and in that moment not a single thing sounded worse to me than a room full of people. That used to excite me, the possibility and the terror of it all, the many different ways in which proximity can veer. Instead, I texted my manager to let her know I would be taking tomorrow off, I emailed the event organizers that I would not be able to attend and would love to have my copy of “Emperor of Gladness” shipped to me, and I boarded the bus home.

Moments like that are tied up with the feeling, in my mind, of having a catch that can't be cleared somewhere in your esophagus – that writhing lump of childish indignation when you can't quite put to words what would make it better. I felt it jolt alongside my body as the bus lurched into motion, and with every bump on the uneven parts of concrete near the onslaught of construction sites I felt that lump combining with my acid reflux and my shame; shame at depriving myself of something I was so looking forward to, shame at not knowing my next steps.

So I improvised, as I am improvising now. I realized today that I was working on a piece that was too good for me to share for free. I realized I could not continue refining it for my Substack audience, about whom I care deeply, because it needs to be part of a more daring next step. As I stepped off the bus and prepared to walk home I called my mother for a close-to-daily chat. We talked about our jobs and our loved ones, little furry friends, and I headed to my front door. As I sat down on the couch I received an email from the book talk organizers with a link to watch it live streamed. “We will be in touch about shipping your copy to you”. I sat on my front porch, as I am doing now on my day off from work, and watched Ocean Vuong talk about his newest book only a short bus ride away.

Truthfully, I often find myself in situations where I am not sure of my next step. It makes me want to wrap my fingers in a clump of hair pull as if weeding my front garden, a chore which, even if I might think of sometimes, I never actually do. I am grateful to know how to improvise. To let my twelve-years-trained-in-classical-piano fingers outpace my once-hit-concrete-at-high-velocity brain and type the playbook faster than I can logic my way out of anything, much as I am doing now.

It is 12:19pm on a Tuesday, freshly afternoon, and I am tickled by the breeze on my front porch with a new copy of “We Do Not Part” by Han Kang (wouldn't it have been incredibly full circle if I had already gotten hold of my copy of “The Emperor of Gladness”?) on the table beside me. I am engaging in a ‘flow state' exercise to see what little morsels of truth or of cunning insight I can squeeze from my fingertips because I realized that I can't keep putting all of my best work out as soon as it is written. I am hesitant to call this an epiphany or a breakthrough or anything of the sort… I'm just improvising.

I hope to share more about what I am working on soon, and I hope that this unedited wall of text ends up being cogent as it seems to be in my mind.

Thank you for reading. If you found it worthwhile, please feel free to subscribe or share. As always, you can find me on Instagram and nowhere else on the Internet for now.

With Sincerity,

J.K.