There are so many once-upon-a-times running through my mind, origination points of life story threads that I’ve either tangled or left dangling in the thin air of my existence.
This is not a post to sell anything, promote myself or gain visibility for my “brand,” as my strengths lie less in creating a cohesive social media platform than sporadically spitting out mercurial moments unmistakably mine.
At the hardest times in my life, I found solace in a morning ritual of writing. I’ve done it for my own sake and shared with no one. I’ve done it for my own sake and shared with everyone, on a blog, where I built an audience that wanted to hear what I had to say. That support helped me to put my words “out there” even when the “there” was a very loosely defined internet space reached through a platform called Blogger (we are now going back a decade.)
So today I am revisiting doing what I did in the way that brought me blessings. Out of my daily writing commitment, I wove plays, monologues, cathartic diary entries, poems, songs, and insights I never would’ve gleaned from simply talking or thinking. I also gained readers and a sense that my words matter, which always feels good even if the path to sharing them is paved with anxious thoughts.
In recovery from addiction and now more mainstream mental health discussions, you hear the term “hitting bottom.” It means reaching a level of pain so intense the only way out is up (a leaaaaap oooof faiiiith). My communicating Gemini soul hit bottom early this morning at 2am in between coughing spells from my first respiratory illness in a year-and-a-half now going on day ten. It hit bottom in a new city to which I moved all by myself without job security, a new bed that is really comfortable but too big for me without my dog, and with my eyes glued to Instagram stories, my back and nose sunburned.
I felt that overwhelming urge and need to write, and it felt familiar. Ive been here before. The scenery and circumstances may have changed but I have been here before and my Why is because I can’t breathe unless I write. This early morning my throat was literally restricting - I could not breathe. The shortness of breath was something I haven’t felt this in years and it was terrifying.
I sit here now with the door open to my studio, a sage incense burning, listening to birds chirp…and things are starting to open up in my vital passageways. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy waking up to the sounds of birds chirping. It is the most comforting and sweet sound I’ve woken up to in ages.
There is something else that is wonderful about this morning and bringing me back to life after sleeping maybe five hours, my body, soul and spirit completely consumed by this NY-to-LA transition less than a month old: my coffee.
Once I realized I would be teaching a few early morning fitness classes, I bought my own Mr. Coffee pot and on a whim the brand Equal Exchange Organic Love Buzz, which is a “blend of full city & french roasts, dark & velvety smooth.” I got organic half and half, and sugar in the raw.
Now I have the perfect morning cup, and with this cup as my witness I am committing to 30 days of writing here on my REFLECTIONS blog daily.
The sharing part is entirely to keep me accountable. My sense is if I don’t post these entries I will not keep up the discipline. So, thanks for helping me stay committed!
I am on a journey. We all are, of course, we are travelers. I turn 42 in a few weeks and the pain which comes when focusing on the things I lack or lost along the way does not serve me. The fear I will never have certain things in my life that once felt like a sure thing is useless. It only helps to let go. To give it away. I walk to the ocean every day now and give stuff like that away.
Maybe the most important reason for me to arrive here at my blank page is to remember who I am. I love the dimensions and sides I choose to express through Instagram (as I seldom go on Facebook anymore and won’t do Twitter) but it is so clearly only a few facets of my personality. And as I posted last night, if you abandon doing what makes your soul happy, it will express itself through disease (“dis-ease”).
My soul loves to sit in front of a blank page and express herself. She loves this kind of “beauty,” and does not want to worry about outer appearances, which can fast lead to ego driven self-torture. My soul loves the birds. She loves to come out and speak to the physical part of me, who has been through the ringer, and say everything is going to be OK. I love you. You are going to be restored to full health, be patient, you are healing. You are grieving. You have a lot of feelings coming up and you are going to work through them all. You can love it here, you do. Be in the transition. Be gentle. Go to the ocean.