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Cosmic Kick in the Ass


Sitting on your couch and trying to determine what you have to offer the world is one hell of an exercise in fear. Fear that you've got nothing. Fear that what you have isn't enough. Fear that you once had something but you misplaced it. Fear that you missed your shot. Fear that you'll decide this question is too taxing and click over to Hulu. Fear that you made the wrong turn your sophomore year in college and missed your fate, Sliding Doors-style. Luckily, we all have something to offer, what we have is always enough, if you misplaced something you'll find it the next time you drop the remote down the couch cushions, there are always more shots, a little Hulu never hurt anyone, and you can fix any Sliding Doors mishaps by getting a hair cut.

What I'm saying is, I'm rethinking the entire direction of my writing career.

I always wanted to write what I deeply believe to be true. I always wanted to go on random adventures and document what I learned and where in them I felt sad, scared, vulnerable, loved. I always wanted to write what's stuck deep down in my spleen, so deep I didn't even realize it was hiding there.

Instead, I wrote for other people. Because that's how you make money and money is something that pays the rent and the bills and paying the rent and bills is what responsible humans do. I always wrote about things I was interested in, and told myself that I loved translating other people's passions into words. And I did. But it was never what I really wanted. Telling myself I did was my brain's cunning way of keeping me safe. But we can only ever tell our own story, and planting my boots in that brand of fear-driven safety eventually proved to be inherently unstable.

Even when I recognized the gap, I was hesitant to make the leap. It seemed insurmountable and there was always more pressing work to be done. But in the past two weeks, a landslide of events have pushed me firmly toward that leap, so firmly that it's less a leap and more a cosmic boot in the ass that pitches me over the cliff.

If last year taught me anything, it's how to stay calm in free fall. To trust the timing. To know that everything will work out, even if I don't yet know how.

In the past, I've always hustled and scrambled and found more client work. But I've never stepped back, taken a breath, and centered in my own voice and my own creativity. This time, I've chosen to trust that what I've learned and can share will be enough to see me through. That what I'm good at and bring to the table will be useful and valuable, so that I can do the work I feel I'm meant to do and live the life I want to live. For the first time in my working life, I'm trusting myself.

What do I have to offer? We'll see.