I have tried to write a new blog post for weeks.
I’ve written thousands of words.
All of them lead nowhere or everywhere or somewhere in between.
I want to make meaning of the things that are happening.
The loss of my mamacita.
The cruelty that snuffs out life at churches and schools and our paralysis over finding a collective way forward.
The waters that swallowed my sweet hometown of Columbia, SC and what it has done to people’s lives.
The individual devastations that people I love are suffering.
The collective brokenness we are all trying to reconcile.
So I write, trying to discover what I know deep down inside. And, as it turns out, I know nothing. Or perhaps more precisely, I am still healing and grieving and need more time and room and space before I can know fully what my understanding of these things are.
I am in a period of noticing, distilling, lingering, considering, fine-tuning.
Occasionally, a word comes to me while I am in that place of pondering and I know it has something for me though I don’t yet know what. And so I write it on a turquoise sticky note and place it on my wall. So far, I’ve accumulated: abundance, astonishing, exuberance, spaciousness, bold, brave, bliss, simple, awe, mojo, alive.
I don’t know what’s coming, but I also know that I cannot force it to come. It needs room. I need room to do the deep, dark soul work that allows for clarity.
And so I am letting myself off the hook. I do not have to find profundity right now. I just have to make way. In this space, way may look like lists of questions I am asking or books I am reading or songs I am singing. It might look like found treasures or the telling of little tiny moments (like this one I just shared with Happy) or the naming of possibilities. The daily-ness. It is not the sexy part of creativity or personal development or life. But it is the marrow. And so I am settling here for as long as it will have me, sitting at its feet with one simple message: I am listening.