Welcome to my weekly blog. Heads up, it might be truly shit this week.
Normally my blogs write themselves in the overactive part of my brain which is always looking for patterns and explanations of human behaviour, tying together the mundane moments of life with vast concepts that underpin the idea of success and happiness.
I am often asked how I write and to be fully transparent about it, the conditions and inspiration deemed necessary for an engaging and entertaining publication are inconsistent at best.
Sometimes the words literally can’t wait to spill onto the page, so excited are they to spread their form and organise themselves in ways which convey meaning beyond the understanding of a simple word. And because life can’t always be that romantic, there are other times when I feel like I am pulling reluctant words from the hidden crevice’s of my mind as I do my very best fight back the building sense of imposter syndrome because who the fuck wants to read this shit anyway?
But mostly, I find that these blogs find me, hunting me down in the most obscure places, from the tampon aisle in my local Coles, to ugly kitchens in the centre of France and in the most part, blown into my head as I run alongside the ocean.
But this week, I have been totally out of inspiration. Life isn’t always parties and revelations and breakthroughs. A lot of the time it is as dull as shit. And sometimes it’s not, but it can’t be written about. This is one of those weeks; a swirling mass of life happening so quickly it paralyses time and deconstructs sentiment to rubble which words can’t cement back together and in the midst of this particular week of my life, my brain has been unable to linearize, conceptualise or actualise anything. So, when I sat down to write, I hit a full-on blank. I literally have nothing to say. What (and I say this sincerely) the actual fuck?
Now I’ve been at this game for long enough to know that repetitively smashing my forehead against the keyboard of my laptop over a lengthy period of time doesn’t help writers block, but I did it anyway. Once that was out of my system, I took myself to my mate Janelle’s house to drink tea and put some distance between me and this fucking blog. While tucking into my second cup of Rooibos, Janelle suggested something so outrageous it might just work – writing quietly, stilly and gently, about how good life is for no other reason than to remind you lot (and by proxy, me) that life isn’t always a struggle; it doesn’t always need to be delivered in an envelope which explodes with lessons like that annoying wedding invite that spews glitter all over your shagpile (fuck you Lauren-&-Mark-please-no-gifts-just-donate-to-our-outragous-honeymoon; fuck you). Sometimes, life can just be, well, life. Perfect, just as it is and without explanation, backstory, justification or action steps to show you how I got here.
So, here it is; a short bit of prose (which funnily enough was very easy to write) from my brain to yours, to remind you that life is made up of momentary reflections which in my case often come late at night while I’m stood staring out a window, cupping a mug of Chilli and Cocoa tea with a blanket draped over my shoulders. For too long, I missed these moments in the search for something that felt like an answer. But tonight, I stopped and listened. And it was perfect.
A momentary reflection of life
It is late on a Monday night and the road sweeper is lumbering through the street below my window under the orange hue of the street lamps. When I first moved into this apartment I was horrified at the noise and intrusion of this monstrous machine as it drove past every night at 11.30pm, splintering the silence of the witching hour when the rest of the world was in slumber and I would feel like the only one awake. It jarred against the night that felt like it was being kept open just for me, time extended and precious and mine. But as with most things, I have come to welcome the intrusion like an old friend who makes you raise your head up again and look outside of yourself, a welcomed relief and a reminder that the world continues to turn, life continues to unfold, and the piece of work I’m so heavily invested in, probably isn’t that important anyway – the streets will be swept whether or not I meet this deadline. Life will continue outside my window.
Because that’s what life does, it continues. And sometimes in life, as another day winds down around you, you realise that everything is exactly as it should be.
Those moments of peace are precious, and I often miss them, choosing instead to worry about what I don’t have yet or who I need to be tomorrow or how I want the next step to manifest. But truth be told, right now is perfect. I have beautiful friends who live wholeheartedly; a collective living demonstration of what it is to figure shit out with grace and humour and love. I couldn’t be more grateful for them. On the other side of the world my family are waking to the day I’m saying goodnight to, safe and well and I hope, happy. They have formed a foundation for me that is so firmly rooted in love that I could not be free without them. I couldn’t be more grateful for them. I have a business I adore and clients I love and a creative outlet I didn’t know I was missing for so many years of my life. I have full time and financial freedom and every day I am challenged to learn and create and evolve and serve and I could not be more grateful to do so. My soul lives in a fit and healthy body which finally after 38 years of berating, I am comfortable in, respectful of and grateful for. I have more than most. I am one of the privileged ones.
I pause to wonder how many times I have stood at the bay window of my living room, looking out through the hanging leaves of the gum tree at this road sweep; how many nights has it trundled past me ignorant to my little life and my crazy dreams and my raging fears; how many times has the world continued to turn safely when I thought it was spinning out of control. Tonight though, it feels safe. And for that, I am truly grateful.
Take the time to be at peace. Take comfort in the mundane. Bring focus to what you have. Because the world will continue to turn, and you don’t want to miss it in the fear of missing it.
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