Time to Make the Donuts
Actual donut I ate in Düsseldorf, Germany, NOT from Dunkin' Donuts. Photograph ©2018 David Bivins.
One morning last week, my son stumbled into the kitchen after having just awakened (with the help of sustained poking and prodding by me). I said “it’s time to make the donuts,” and explained the ubiquitous Dunkin’ Donuts commercial that debuted in 1984 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYRurPB4WA0 for you younguns’ out there).
The theme has been rumbling in my brain for weeks now, as I’ve been feeling a little listless outside of my paid work and some coaching that I’m doing in the evening. I think the structure of work and coaching is a great scaffolding for me. I know that I have to wake up and do certain things, and I’ve gotten much better at breaking the bigger things into smaller, manageable tasks that I can complete each day. It’s satisfying and fulfilling.
But I worry a little about the listlessness. The “what to do” that has me opening Google News and reading stuff that’s not terribly interesting to me, just to pass the time. The positive side of this is that I’m reading more. My wife gave me a book by a friend of hers, The Urge: Our History of Addiction by Carl Erik Fisher, which is utterly compelling, and I just picked up Dilla Time by Dan Charnas, and that’s equally compelling (to the point that I’m half-way through it in only 24 hours).
I’m restless in my home office/studio and wanting to rearrange it yet again. I last rearranged the room in early lockdown, bringing in a large table to serve as a desk and settling on stashing unused gears in corners and under shelves. I know I have to get rid of stuff to make the room usable, but it’s so difficult for me to give anything up. Anything I could consider selling or giving away symbolizes lost potential for me: “I never made a song with that synthesizer… I never used that effect…”
Other days I have an almost manic urge to get rid of things. Out with the old to make room for the new. The physical work can reflect the mental/emotional work of getting rid of alcohol in my life. It’s not as simple as that, though, as the process of getting sober (as far as I know) doesn’t require boxes and bubble wrap, listing things online and trips to the shipping store on Atlantic Avenue.
I’m sure part of it is that it’s been so cold here. Nothing unusual, just the normal winter blahs where leaving the apartment is a chore, requiring extra time to add layers and don my too-heavy winter coat.
I’m sure part of it is the forced isolation of the last couple of years, too, and the relative ease with which I’ve embraced this physically introverted lifestyle. I’ve been a homebody since childhood, and given the excuse of staying inside to avoid infection (and feared potential death in the early months of lockdown) has only cemented that all these decades later.
So making the donuts helps. While I use my bullet journal for work and my personal life, it’s really swung to being 90% or more work in the last couple of months.
I chuckled to myself a week ago when I wrote “brush and floss” in my bullet journal. I was being cheeky with myself at 5:50am, pouring out all of the various tasks I had before me that day. But that gives me structure, and maybe it’s less funny than it is necessary right now. Making a neat “x” over each bullet I’ve completed gives me satisfaction and it also grounds me in the present. I did the thing. I can do the next thing now.
Another way I’m incrementally moving through my life is in my music. Every Saturday I take my son to Manhattan for some music-related activities. In the warmer months I would bring a book and a camera and wander the blocks around Lincoln Center taking photos and reading. Now that it’s too cold for that, I’ve taken to bringing a small sequencer/sampler with me and sitting in a café for those few hours, making little snippets of music that I can work on more at home. They’re seeds I’m planting. Not all of them will make it, but the act of even doing it nourishes me as good habits often do.
As I sit at my desk and type this, I ponder whether or not to focus on one of the themes here in my email to you–the “lost” opportunities I perceive in my music gear; the forced introversion; the restlessness/listlessness. But I think it’s best to just leave it all in here. My thoughts are all over the place right now, and writing about it helps me at least see what’s good in it all and reflect on the overall positivity of it. I may slip into mindless scrolling of the news (or Instagram or scattered articles about music I like), but the fridge has its groceries, the animals have been fed, and I’m on top of things at work. And I’m sober. It’s all OK right now.
I love you,
David
