Today, I am 2 weeks into my 30 day Writer’s Block Challenge. Here are some random thoughts.
Writing a like untangling strings of thought and crafting them into neat little functional paragraphs.
The sentence (or what the sentence wants to be) forms wordlessly at first. I know it sounds bizarre but in reality, it makes sense. Language is a concrete way to vocalize abstract things such as thought.
Writing is simultaneously relieving and painful. Sometimes it leads to clarity, other times, it feels a bit like a Merry-Go-Round.
Although I started out with a list of topics, I didn’t find…
I admit it. I get jealous. Over a few things. Ok — over a lot of things.
Jealousy is similar to FOMO: Fear of Missing Out…
But jealousy and disappointment about something that is gone and/or can’t ever *be* may be even worse.
This is called KIMO: “Knowing I Missed Out”. I first came across this term while reading a blog post by Seth Godin.
Knowing you missed out on something that you can’t have but want *so damn bad* isn’t fun.
Do you just gaslight and convince yourself that you are wrong? …
Be who you needed when you needed someone the most. Become them. And then go find the ones who need you.
Fill the gap. Offer to the world that missing piece. There are still so many missing pieces. So many people and situations that need your expertise, your unique perspective.
Be someone’s One. The One who made the difference. The One who showed they cared. The One who opens their arms when the rest of the world turned away. Kindness is like magic to someone who hasn’t ever really experienced it.
Believe in someone. Believe in them before they learn…
Would you go back and change your regrets? The immediate answer for many people, of course, is a resounding Yes.
But would you really want to? Aside from the odd Butterfly Effect/ Chaos Theory mess that you would be in, how would it change you?
Who would you *be*?
Regretting is like paying a car payment on a car you don’t even have…. it is paying interest on old worry. The energy dedicated to continually remembering, reliving the negative feeling in the pit of your stomach, and the brain-space spent on rumination is a waste of time.
We love people not for their perfections… but for their imperfections. When they let you see them at their worst, their walls lowered down and vulnerable. Real. When they let you into their depths, neck bared… knowing you could bite — or worse — run.
We love people when they lay their heart in our hands and they tell us things that are hard to say, things that are hard to hear. When they feel brutally real. Because that makes us feel brutally real. …
Heavy; time is hanging in the air.
A heartbeat almost too low to hear
and somehow you see me,
although you aren’t fully aware.
Behind your stillness,
your stoic strength,
I feel the tidal wave inside you
as it rises.
From under silvered brow you gaze towards me,
seeing but not seeing,
and I watch the firelight that lives in your eyes.
Its golden orange glow swells,
Just like back then.
And I can feel you remember.
And oh yes, I remember, too.
The lion in you roaring into me. …
Over time, the world is created by optimists.
They are otherworldly innovators, real-life Seers, Smile-ologists.
They are the believers. Since they believe… they DO. They decide, act, take the risk. They are optimistic in their pursuit of ‘potential’.
Thank you to the optimists for ignoring the nay-sayers and following their visions.
Thank you to the optimists for laying it all on the line.
For dreaming big and SHARING it, too.
For gifting your energy to the world around you.
For seeing beyond what is — and creating *MORE*.
Thank you to the optimists. To the ones who risk it all…
“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Rewiring thinking takes time. Understanding why we think and believe the way we do takes deep work. I know this — you know this — but what we do not know is: what we don’t know.
Because sometimes things hide from us. Or the thought pattern comes from a place where “it’s just the way it is” and since we really don’t have anything to compare it to, we could not know better.
Sometimes (a lot of…
Where are you? Omniscient and wise — my muse who knows my past, present, and future. Tell me which way.
Where are you? Where are your glitter-filled effervescent thoughts? I sure could use an idea right now.
One that makes me *positively glow*, if you please.
One that pulls me from the groundhog inspired day-to day-to-day and lets me run away.
To a far away land, or a mountain, a shady and warm island. Anywhere but here… Where I just go to work and grocery shop and walk the dog… rinse-lather-repeat.
Read my cards! Whisper it to me… I cannot…
*1995: I was homeless and it was spring. I had a few friends who had let me stay with them, so not every night was spent on the street. I was a minor, and by mid-summer, I was placed in a girls’ shelter that was run by an odd combination of the state and catholic nuns. I was released in October, on the morning of my 18th birthday.
I woke that morning to my already packed bags. It was surreal as I said good bye to the other girls. I had become the older sister of the group even though…
Wanna be wanderer, worshiper of words, writer of rough drafts. Maker of mistakes and strong coffee. Reading you — it’s what I do.