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You have to take risks. We will only understand the miracle of life when we allow for the unexpected to happen.”
I came downstairs tonight to get popcorn and write.
The popcorn was gone: when I was resting my head on the pillow and taking actions in a different direction, that goal was seen as a “sometime, someday” thing and by the time I lifted myself off the bed and made my way downstairs the light was turned off of the popcorn warmer and the inside was wiped clean and it was as if the popcorn had never been there at all.
It certainly wasn’t destined for my mouth, throat, belly or hips.
I felt slightly sad when I noted its absence, but I knew I still had writing.
I have always had writing.
I have always known the satisfaction of tapping on the keyboard to release whatever niggling upset hovered around my shoulders and jaw.
Sometimes the niggling becomes a roar and the pen gets heavy in my hand and moving the ink onto the page feels like picking my Nike up out of the mud magnified ten or more times. I stop and wonder if I would be better off just taking off my shoes and leaving them there and then I say no. Too expensive.
Pick up your damn foot with the shoe intact and for God’s sake keep moving.
The same way with writing.
It might feel too heavy, it might make me a dirty sweaty, heaving mess – and I know if I just keep the pencil moving, the fingers on the keyboard dancing – that the result whether it is embarrassing or surprisingly good overall – my heart will feel better (eventually) for following through.
For the first time in years I feel like I am on the edge of a breakthrough.
I knew I wouldn’t be there if I didn’t keep my shoes moving even in the mud and my fingers moving even when I didn’t feel like it and I just sunk into deeper and more morose anger and sorrow.
Even if there isn’t light at the end of the tunnel, there is an end of the tunnel.
Sometimes, my loves, light isn’t the best fuel after all.
Sometimes, my loves, the end of the tunnel is a door to something better than light.
The unexpected – and the not knowing – and the allowing the whatever the heck it is to become your “magic carpet” (insert your favorite metaphor) will get you to that better-than-light place you can’t even put into words yet.
Stay with me. Let’s write together next week. October 30 – November 3. 6:45 am & pm PDT via Periscope and Facebook Live – always available 24/7 via replay.