i would like to start writing again.
i would like to write more consistently.
i would like to write.
i think it really boils down to that.
it’s so interesting how my mind takes something and warps it into something else,
something not as fun,
not as easy,
not as natural.
but it’s even more interesting and cool that i always come back to the thing.
and each time, i feel like the view is a little clearer,
the experience a little flow-ier.
at first, i was going to let ppl know on social media that,
hey, i’m gonna be writing more on my blog and less on my social media accounts, so follow along > here <.
and then, i immediately cringed internally.
i didn’t want to do that.
it didn’t feel as good.
i mean i love when ppl read my stuff.
it really really really makes my day.
but i also don’t want to be telling ppl to follow me, to read my shit.
maybe it’s like a shy-ness,
maybe it’s a misbelief,
maybe it’s an insecurity.
like who’s gonna want to follow > me <??
maybe it’s also just… who cares?
who gives a flying f who reads anything?
who gives a flying f what i write?
no, i’m not being self-deprecating, although i enjoy that as a pastime occasionally lol.
it’s matter of fact.
i think the only thing that matters, at this time, for me, is,
that i write.
and who knows, i may not write again in months or years or ever again or whatever.
i’ve seen myself do that, be super hyped up about something and then peter off the very next day.
to that, i say fuck it.
i say fuck it to consistency
fuck it to dedication
fuck it to commitment
fuck it to creativity
fuck it to vision
fuck it to discipline
especially fuck it to discipline
i hated the War of Art by Steven Pressfield.
anyone read that?
i hated the idea of getting my ass kicked,
of being so hyper-aware of resistance,
of being hyper-aware of a goal or intention or whatever.
i hated the idea of battling resistance,
i hate the idea of battle.
i think the book is good and i think it changed a lot of people’s lives and outlooks.
but i finally have the guts to admit, i don’t care about resistance
about overcoming it
about triumphing over it
about triumphing in general.
i don’t care about doing great things
and of dying fulfilled, having achieved personal goals, standards, blahblahblah.
i have the guts to admit to myself that i’m okay dying ‘unfulfilled’.
i have the guts to admit to myself that there is no such thing as an unfulfilled life.
that sounds sacrilegious.
i think i spelled that wrong.
like where did i get the idea that my life is supposed to amount to > something <??
that life is supposed to look or feel or be or act a certain way??
that life is supposed to mean something?
people look for the meaning of life because they don’t understand…
life > is < the freaking meaning.
it’s in every moment,
in every breath,
in every nanosecond,
in every heartbeat,
in every glance
every peal of laughter
every sigh of satisfaction
it’s all freaking here.
all of it.
not ONE bit is held back
in ANY way
at ANY time
and we, every single ding dang freaking human of us, have every capacity to lean into, at whatever capacity we have available to us, the fullness of life, of this moment, of Now.
the ‘unfulfilled’ life is a myth.
dying with the sense that our lives meant less than another’s,
or the sense that we shoulda coulda woulda _____________
or that we ‘wasted’ anything…
is the experience, or rather, symptom of thinking that life is meant to be a certain way,
and we missed it.
missed the dang mark
ding dang dong dagnabit.
anyway, i think what i wanted to say, was that, i would like to just write.
i would like to just be me.
anyone else tired of hearing that come out of my mouth?
i feel like the first step to being myself is to dispel, release, surrender, forgive myself of the idea that there’s a way to be,
some thing to reach.
that’s always been my lesson, in all corners and nooks and crannies of my life.
that the thing i really really really really want,
the thing i deeply deeply deeply seek and desire,
it’s all at the center of me.
it’s in the quiet,
the seeming void.
the place where concepts, ideas, standards, agreements with society, cultural habits, past, present, future versions of me,
the place where i am no one,
not in a self-diminishing way,
but in the way that, if i am truly One with All That Is,
then where does < me > begin and end?
where does god, universe, source, spirit, all the things begin and end?
the place where nothing matters and everything is perfect.
does that sound too idealistic?
like too head-in-the-clouds?
i’ve worked v hard to get here.
and by v hard, i mean, i’ve learned to stop working hard
because i’ve been re-wilding myself to all those things.
because life is not as hard and strenuous and backbreaking and arduous and what other SAT words can i use to describe what i’ve found life to >not< be??
life is… life.
life is happening.
in every person
at every moment
how many different ways can i say this lol
i feel like a broken record.
and i guess, that’s not too far from it.
i’m just a broken record, playing the same things until i hear something different, as i become different,
as i spiral up and out, inward and within,
ride the crests and troughs,
flow with the flow,
a flow found in the song of my heart,
in the depths of my being.
and it turns out, the broken record isn’t so broken after all.
the broken record plays – for me.
as i resolve, heal, expand, evolve,
the sound i hear in the silence,
the Me i experience at any moment has become…
that’s the word that came to mind.
leaning into the fullness of me.
here i am.
fabulous and magnificent.
absolutely stunning, Grace.
doing the damn thing.
good for you.
good. for. you.