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In life and in writing, the message is the same.

I’ve been sitting on this post for several days now, trying to figure out exactly what I want to say, and how to say it. I’ve been hearing the same message, resurface again and again, in different conversations.

Suit up. Show up. Do the next right thing.

There’s so much in life that I cannot control. So much that baffles me and sends me in a tizzy as I try to understand. Yet, the more I search for the why and what for and that magic solution, the more elusive the answers.

Of one thing I am certain, though: when I put one foot in front of the other, when I shower and make my bed, when I eat my breakfast and carry out my day, when I move from one small task to another, I arrive in the exact right place. There. In the light. For a second. Under the wings of a power so much greater than myself.

Take a breath.
Trust.
Do what’s in front of me.

Not every revelation comes as a burning bush, but eventually I see with more clarity.

All that is true in writing as well, the dizzy worry and that search for the perfect solution. I struggle through a story, and I think, Why? What for? Where’s the damn thread in all this mess? Yet, all I really have to do is suit up and show up. Put one tiny word in front of another. Take a breath and trust.

Because nothing comes out perfect the first time. Rarely does it smooth out the second time. But the more I keep at it, the more I push forward, the more will be revealed. And, in the end (and there is always an end to the madness), there I sit. In the light of a story pulled straight from the heart and written on the page. Maybe it doesn’t hold all the answers to the problems I will face the next time around, but somehow – for the moment – I feel better.

What’s your message this week?

Photo credit: Grafixar on Morguefile.com

 

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Sometimes the words are just meant for me.

I’ve been sitting and studying the potential of this post for the last two hours. I had all sorts of ideas, inspired by an essay I read from Nathan Evans at Hippocampus Magazine.

You should read it.

He talks about first kisses, and the unexpected effects. And, deep in the middle of his essay is a message about the sweet taste of love.

I thought I’d write about my unexpected firsts, about how love came up on me all quiet and sneaky. And how it still comes, in waves.

But the lines read unfinished.
And raw.
And were maybe a study, in events, meant only for me.

You know?

Sometimes when we write, it’s because we have to see the words fall onto the screen, or onto the paper, in a comprehensible way so that our mind really gets it — whatever “it” is, that critical message we’ve been missing for weeks or months on end.

So, the early drafts of this post were an exercise in listening and understanding, and what the last two hours of writing yielded was a gift: that often, the quiet and profound revelations in life show up in unexpected places, even (and especially) when I’m not paying attention.

Where did your writing take you this week?