On weekends and long holidays, I start each morning with work (reading and writing) in the kitchen. I make coffee and occasionally stare out the window trying to catch searched-for words, talk to my dog as he basks in the sun’s rays. Then, in the afternoons I move to the porch, or the west side of the house and work alone for the rest of the day. This is the concentrated work, usually the fiction, poetry, or editing submissions that requires me to read out loud to myself. I tried that act of discovery in coffee shops and it doesn’t work for me. I need a quiet place.
After a few weeks of this routine, I realized that I was simply following the light. Once the morning sun moves to its afternoon place, I move as well. I love the idea of following the light, the turn of the world that continues to guide me to what’s next.
Writing isn’t the only thing like that; so much of my life is following threads and currents. I want to know where it’s all going, where I’m headed. But sometimes, when things have yet to be revealed, I have to trust the person I’m becoming. I have to embrace the beauty and terror of the ever-changing precious moment. I have to hold on to the wonder and glory of healing and survival. Let grief pass through me. Do more than address the trauma.
I want to learn from those who have navigated similar paths with grace. What they’ve taught me so far is mostly patience, surrender, and willingness.
The older I get the less concerned I am with the uniqueness or brevity of my story. What I am interested in is contributing to our shared experience and recovery. I know that I am not obligated to complete that work, but I believe in continuing it - with every atom of my being.
As we close this year, I wish each of you a steady following of the light wherever that be and wherever that may lead you. Even if that path delivers, eventually, the necessary encounters with and seasons in the dark. In short, this skeptic is asking you to have a little faith (in who you are becoming). Doing the work hasn’t betrayed me once. Take the leap with me, we can build wings on the way down.
I’ve walked just as far on my kneecaps as my feet anyway.