I have regularly found myself at one over the past four years. More recently, swinging back and forth, a human pendulum, attempting to make life decisions charged complete with the knowingness that I know nothing, ready to let the wind take me. The other half is feeling closer than ever to knowing myself and what I want out of life.
Life and purpose, another area where I swing on vines with the breeze. I often question whether life is about what "we want" at all; is that an illusion? I could pose philosophical questions by the hour, only to spin wheels in place and cause a mental sinkhole (mainly for myself). As I've continued to dive deeper into myself over the past two years, I've made peace with not having answers to everything (mostly). I do know that I currently have this site, with a blog, that holds much writing that was done more than ten years ago, though some more recent; I feel I'm ready to spend a little time updating the content. I've noticed that while I hold many opinions when it comes to writing, I walk the line. Though a natural descriptive writer, I often shy away from topics that might lend to polarization. If you know me in person, you're probably chuckling, having been exposed to more than one opinionated rant, contemplative voice notes, or holding knowledge of my letters of justice, etc. My statement above probably sounds false and out of touch. In taking inventory, I think I still have PTSD from the passive-aggressive days of Myspace song lyric expressions or Facebook cryptic status updates. Once you put it out there, it's out there, and you never know what sticks in people's minds. I've spent a lot of my life suppressing and burying emotions in an attempt to "not feel" because, deep down, I knew something deeper needed to come out and also because I've had this illogical dream of remaining mysterious. Avoidant, yes. Healthy, no. Fear of judgment - for sure. Will what I write impact me negatively someday, will my attempt to be authentic and connect with others in a real way come off as an overshare, will I regret something I've said, will my storytelling paint me as a pessimist or of a victim mindset, will my mind change or my stance change and someone holds a previous version of my expressive self against me, will people think they know me fully based off my writing alone... These are all things that run through my head when it comes to writing deeper. If I've learned anything over life, especially in ending a marriage, people will think whatever they want to, period. This blog is not about changing anyone's mind, nor is my book, or anything else I choose to write for myself, for that matter. It's about storytelling and experience; it's about so much more.
The past few months have propelled me into a very interesting head space. I've been trying to figure out the typical human response: why is this happening to me? When I was reminded, while driving down the expressway, of someone saying, "It's happening for you." If you're like me and you've experienced your fair share of tough breaks and short ends of the sticks, you get a little tired of hearing things like that at times. Sometimes, what you really crave is a tangible reason, something to sink your teeth into, something you can do something with. Then it hit me, when. I moved into my new house, and I sat with the deep-seated want to finish my book. Knowing I had zero motivation to do so, having just made it through a divorce, a move, and raising two teens, among copious repairs to a brand new house that were not caught during inspection. To say my energy was depleted is a kind way of describing me slipping off the edge of my own mind. Finish a book? No way, I'm back in survival mode. To be quite honest, I'm not sure I ever left it.
So, how is this happening for me? Driving in silence, I realized - heartbreak. I've always struggled to write what I consider well (for my personal art) when I am happy or in love. I attribute this to the fact that I am an undisciplined author. I write so many things daily for regular work: articles, scripts, captions, copy... When it comes to my passion projects, though, I'm unruly in the Wild West. I am an artist who is distracted, avoidant, and afraid of success. When my book's formation finally came to me more years ago than I care to admit (a collection of short stories surrounding heartbreak), it made sense because I know it well. Whether at my own hands or others, I'm no stranger and I think in many ways it's poetic. No one escapes it. So here I sit, surrounded by a lot of crap situations that I've been trying to 'silver lining' my way through when I realized - I'm being served up real-time material that gives me the exact path to what I needed: MOTIVATION. A direct connection to how things feel for me to describe and hopefully for you to connect with. I know that everything is not meant for everyone, but if you're here or if you plan to purchase my book when it comes out, I hope you find something that speaks to you. And with that, I'm going to alchemize these life situations into fuel, let go of the delusion of trying to be the Banksy of writing and pen my way through it all.
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