I woke up this morning with the deepest desire to blog.
And yet... I have nothing.
Nothing certain to write about.
No organized thoughts on any one topic.
Nothing that screams, "Write me!"
What I do have, it seems, is controlled chaos in my life right now, simmering always under the surface of my existence. And I interact with enough people every day to know you probably feel this way, too.
We're all managing so much. Sometimes to the point that it actually hurts.
It's exhausting, isn't it? It feels like such a slog sometimes.
I get it.
And when I feel this way, when there's no clear path, one of my go-to releases (Sorry, does that sound sexual? Ew.) is writing.
Writing forces me to distill my cocktails-of-akimbo down to the essential ingredients, lending perspective and even permission to flush away the rest.
How does writing accomplish this?
When I open up a blank page, I set a course. That, right there, sets an anchor.
And though I'm never sure what will spill forth, the important stuff has a way of rushing from my heart to my fingers and onto the page. The only obligations I have are to write with honesty and vulnerability, because there's NO room for faking this stuff. Posers don't stand a chance in this process. Smart readers sniff 'em out in a heartbeat.
For instance, today, the important thing to write about (clearly) is that I'm fucking. Tapped. Out.
And I debated using profanity right there^...but I'm keeping it in...because I feel it and because this is MY blog and because if I go back up there and hit backspace 7 times over the F and the U and the C and the K and the I and the N and the G then I'm not writing how I actually feel. And I'm fucking tapped out.
But now that I've written how tapped out I feel, it's out of my head and onto the page.
This is not to say it's now YOUR problem instead of mine (unless, of course, you want to find a way to untap my tapped-out-ed-ness, in which case, don't even try. Trust me on this.). Rather, I've released the swirl of uncertainty rattling around in my head and put it somewhere else...the page... and now, I not only feel my breathing slow down, but also a little more emotional space cleared in my mind.
Best part is, I'm feeling a little sense of accomplishment that I pushed myself to write something -- ANYTHING -- rather than lament that I've got nothing to give. Granted, I might have just given you a headache, but it's not nothin. Am I right?
For me, this process is both therapeutic AND free, which naturally appeals to my FRUGALicity (and now, add some bonus points for making up a word)!
When I open up a blank page, I do not see emptiness... or overwhelm... or hopelessness.
Instead, I see possibility.
A blank page, for me, is a reset.
There's so much pressure to "produce" these days, and we're so often scared of "stillness".
Of the moments we don't have something to show.
Of the unknown.
It's absolutely terrifying not knowing where we're going, isn't it? The fear of the unknown grabs us so hard by the throat, squeezing so hard that our eyes bug out. It's not pretty. It's just not.
But WE set our own courses.
WE alone have the power to loosen the squeeze.
The first step is always the scariest.
But just try it, even without a map.
Because you just never know where you might lead your awesome self.
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