To write, in love
this right here is a journey to write, honestly and with some umph to it, that’s been a long time coming. My muse for the last few years was pain, coming off the heels of a decision to walk away from a version of my life that made sense to others, and was wrecking me, in all the ways. And from that decision came a treasure trove of inspiration - poetry, reflections, a gushing flood of work that feels painful to revisit because of the sheen of pain and loneliness on it, in that season.
But. That leads to the crossroads where I am now, in a much better place, where what I’m faced with is now, how to continue creating, trusting that I can. To create, trusting that its neither extreme I fear - that I can only create out of pain, therefore I must look to and mine the worst parts of where I am today, nor is it ignoring all that brings any level pain to find the good, so I don’t get sucked down into a version of myself I climbed out of. Because I’ve been trying both and them shoes don’t fit, Cinderella’s sister.
I guess its the lesson of the past few years I’ve been trying to wrap my head around - that even when life hurts, you keep going - at whatever pace, with whatever truth you’ve got access to. And sometimes that truth will be, was, only the pain of self discovery and exploration that in the moments felt way too late. That truth will be standing in the wreckage of a life I pulled apart for a deep clean and realized some pieces of the foundation were seeping lead into the water (mixed metaphor? I dunno, I’m not a homeowner yet.). And sometimes the truth will be - I’m in a version of my life that feels good and strange, and what’s next is outside of any playbook I’ve been using, and realizing that was the point - to live the life I’ve wanted. And sometimes that truth is paired with a side of loneliness, because the deep clean, and the self discovery and the last few seasons were really insular and that was necessary, but I miss people and am finally excited about the synergy of your inner world and outer expression and want to share that with the people I have around me, but I’ve changed, and they have too and some of those changes meam we don’t rhyme in the same ways anymore.
And I can hear the distant sound of ground growing between who were my people and me, just at the point of my deepest, most fertile depths finally growing new crops. And at my most enlightened, in my mind, I embrace and accept this growth within and away as beautiful, as necessary. And at my most real, in the mirror, that truth isn’t comforting, if it was supposed to be.
There’s a more loving way to look at this growth, I believe. To trust that growth, in any direction, means magic is afoot - you never know who needs to see this new version of yourself to get the fuck on their own path, or away from you, or both. And what new people, life, will emerge from this new ground.
You know, I’ve read reflections from other people before that said a lot of words, but nothing specific at the same time. On the other side of the pen/page, I get it now. Honest, loving writing is the goal. And once you reach that, keep going.