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Morning Rumination

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

I was once more bold in sharing what I like to call my ruminations. These are sparked by a random thought and morph into mental essays that I can’t wrap my head around until I write them down. My journals are filled with such intellectual meanderings, I’m always writing; it seems to be the only way to clear my head.

I suppose, as I’ve grown older and have tried integrating myself more with society, I have become somewhat embarrassed by my willingness to be so open, so vulnerable on public forums. However, I do believe it is the responsibility of writers to be bold in bearing their souls. If one is going to write, then there ought to be meaning in it. If I’m going to write, I must write something worth reading. 

This thought came up again as I was reading Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin where she says – “Some day when I’m feeling better I’ll go back there and actually write the thing down. They should all be cheered by it, for isn’t it what they want? What we all want: to leave a message behind us that has an effect, if only a dire one; a message that cannot be cancelled out. But such a message can be dangerous. Think twice before you wish, and especially before you wish to make yourself into the hand of fate.”

That section really struck me with its truth. Once a private thought becomes a public one, there is no recalling it; no delete, no cancel, no return to sender on the envelope. But, even in the header on this website I’ve already captured the essence of my soul – Reader… Thinker… Writer…

That is my preamble as I jump off the precipice of opening myself up slightly and sharing what is really on my mind. If you enjoy these ruminations, if they strike a chord with you and you can relate, give them a like or leave a comment and I’ll know that they are going somewhere other than the void. 

Morning Rumination

I don’t know how to ignite a purpose within myself when I no longer feel one. When I lost my faith in a higher power, I lost the sense of my life having meaning. I used to feel like I was being pulled to something, a higher calling, a meaning, a purpose, a reason that my single flame in a sea of fire meant something. 

After my great fall from believing in something outside myself, I was swallowed up in a yawning depression. This lasted for years. As I slowly re-awaken to the life around me, the life in me, I wonder where to go next. I do not have a partner, I have no children, my life is mine and mine alone. When one does not live for other people, what does one live for?

I see much writing out there that starts by describing a struggle and ends with a message about how the author moved forward and steps that others can take to do the same. I don’t have any such advice. It would feel inauthentic to pretend that I do. Who am I to instruct others on what it means to live a good life? 

I’m relaxing into knowing that I simply do not know. I feel liberation in slowing down and being aware. What calls to me? Is a simple life a bad thing? Will I suddenly wake up one day and once again know how to spend my time in a way that feels worth something? 

I may, and I may not. The only way I know to be okay with the unknown is to accept that it is there and that I can’t force it to change. 

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Waiting In The Bushes

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

An ebbing undercurrent of an unknown emotion keeps me from starting. What is at the root of this hesitation? I know that I love writing, so why am I avoiding it? I really don’t know, but I want to understand so I can move past it. 

There is a method that I use when I want to understand something about myself; I ask “is it X?” My subconscious will answer with a yes or a no. It is a feeling, a knowing. If I get a “Yes” answer, then I’ll dive deeper and ask why. If it is a “No” answer, then I’ll keep asking questions until I land on a “Yes” answer. It often feels like a conversation with myself.

“Why do I feel this wall that keeps me from even trying to write?” I ask myself.

I’m answered with another question. “Do you feel this way about all writing?” 

“No, I am not afraid of all writing; I can journal, I can write my thoughts (such as these) without any anxiety. It is the writing of fiction that causes the angst.”

I sit and wait…

It appears to be trepidation of not knowing what to say… Aha! I just hit the root. I’ve been sitting here for an hour with a story and nothing is coming to me. Is this the dreaded writer’s block? How interesting! I love solving problems. How do I wiggle my way out of this one? Now, I understand this has held me back before. I give up when the writing doesn’t come easy. But not this time!

The story lies just beneath the surface, I can feel it. It taunts me. She is so close to telling me her secrets. How do I coax her forward? I switched my music playlist to something more aggressive. The beat of action and danger pulses through the next scene. I lay down a breadcrumb snare and step back into the bushes; watching, waiting…

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Feel Those Feelings

Image by Pixaline from Pixabay

Many of us were raised to not show our feelings. As if it were somehow dangerous to let those around us really know us on a personal level. I’ve found that by not showing my feelings, or being afraid to show my feelings, I’ve become less aware of how I feel in general. 

Learning how to foster the right mindset for writing has forced me to pay attention to my emotions. I believe that our reality is based on how we feel. We can be surrounded by all the things we know we like, but still not feel satisfied. 

I’ve been paying attention to what makes me feel like a writer. Some of it seems superficial and vain, but I’m allowing myself to let go of my own self judgement. Wearing certain clothes, having an instrumental backdrop and of all things… a white, plush rug makes me feel like a writer. 

Once I feel like a writer, the creative gates open and the words breed and multiply on the page; the thin veil between imagination and reality drops all together. I’m developing a little ritual now, as I train my creative self to perform when called upon. This is my safe space where I’ve given myself permission to feel what I feel and allow expression to pour out of me. 

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Short Story contest Submission

I’ve taken my first jump off the cliff of writing contests! It was a different and quite fun experiment to write towards a goal rather than simply bending to the will of my imagination. The rules are simple: Write about coming into $20,000 and include something about a little black notebook. If there is a tie for first place, the story with the most engagement will win. Please give it a read and a heart on Vocal and let me know what you think!

Letting Go: The Healing Power of Friendship and Time

I’m looking forward to writing for more contests and sharing my experience!

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Morning Reprieve

I write in the morning when the magic of dreams are still alive. Before the tasks of the day start flooding in. Some days writing feels clunky, mechanical and almost impossible; I wonder why I even try. Other mornings it feels like the spirit of the story is flowing out of the ether, through me and my fingertips. Those are the moments I live for. That sensation is what keeps me coming back.