making my way to somewhere

I wrote late last night. 

From a place of frantic thoughts and confusion.

I wrote to keep my promise to myself and to settle down the thoughts. 

Looking back, there are typos, there are extra words, there are all the mistakes found in a torrent of words.

I'm not going to go back and correct the mistakes. I'm going to leave them as a reminder to myself to slow down.

What happened to my pause?

and it's not about needing to publish only a polished piece of writing. It's not even about owing more to myself. 

It really is about slowing down. 


"yesterday or the day before

or many years ago

I would have had pen in hand

tingling and growing numb

my ten digits cannot hold on

so I reach instead for the keys"


Writing by hand is slower but I've not been able to write by hand for longer than part of a page in a very long time. My hands tingle and go numb. I have tried different pens, different notebooks, different tables. Always, my morning pages turned into frustrated sessions. I told myself it doesn't matter whether I write by hand or at the laptop but I think it does. It matters because I can type eighty plus words a minute. I have reasoned that is OK because I think fast thoughts and my hands can keep up. Maybe the point is that I need to slow my thought processes down. Let them be less frantic. 



Type slower.

Be aware of how the keys feel under my fingers.

Stop and look around at the clutter on the table.

Be here. Be now.


Last night, I was caught in a whirlwind of doubt, of too many ideas, of not knowing. Sometimes, we don't know and there's a world of people telling us just how it should be. It's easy to get pulled away from the promises we make to ourselves, especially when charting new territory. It's important to remember that this is OUR territory to chart. Someone else's map simply won't get us to where we are going. 

With the beginnings of a new practice that I've decided is as important as this one, I began to question what place any of these words have in telling my story. Pieces of the puzzles on the table and I am grabbing one and then another, trying to make them fit together; trying to force the whole picture to come into view. I think I need a different analogy. I'm not sure that looking at this as a puzzle to put together works because what happens if there is a missing piece . . . it in incomplete. 

Right now in this moment, when my words are scattered and scrambled and not adding up to much, I am not incomplete. Right now when I don't quite know the way, I am not incomplete. Let's go back to charting my territory.  There are multiple ways of getting from here to there. I simply have to clear the way and mark it as my way. It will always be my way. 

These words that I sling up here onto a screen. This is my map-making. It is my way out of being stuck. This is the chapter in the book that doesn't get published. We like the success stories. We like reading about how someone pulled themselves from one place to another. We don't always like the confusing, meandering, wandering chapter because it doesn't make much sense. It feels like it going nowhere. Not true. It's going somewhere.

The end of this year will be somewhere. I'm going to make my way there.