It is coming. The next shift. The next movement in this thing that is my life.
It starts to take shape. A figure rising from the mist. It has to do with putting the writing out there, the words out there, in a ‘bigger’ way.
I rush to give it words. I want to get published! I’m going to do podcasts! I’m writing another book! I feel that familiar, almost manic, rise in energy, excitement. Yes! Something I can sink my teeth into. Get moving on.
I hear of a summit for writers, it’s free. Lots of writers talking about writing. How they overcome resistance, write while on a cruise, get published and make a million dollars on their first book. It’s free! And all the ways I can get unlimited access to their presentations, buy their books, join their programs.
I set up a meeting with a dear friend to talk about writing and publishing. I’ve put it in red on my calendar, with a big smiley face. We pull out our notebooks to brainstorm and make lists. The lists grow, and the options expand, and all of a sudden I’m feeling that tightening, closing, the breath-stopping feeling of “Whoa Nelly! Hold on there. Slow Down!” I go home all shaken up.
The next day I read the headlines about the latest shooting at a school.
A dark gray cloud descends. Wrapped in the heartbreak of that shooting, the pointless tragic waste of it all.
And so I do the only thing I can in the face of it. I write. I write. I write.
This morning I rise to birds twittering. The sun is finally breaking through the clouds. In my morning pages, I discover that this ‘next movement,’ as I can only call it, is still taking shape. I cannot rush it, cannot force it. The words and how they will be expressed in this world will have to find their own way organically, from the inside.
I am grateful that I catch the warnings a little earlier now. I recognize the old pattern of leaping to find the answers in a summit, or someone else’s advice, before I trust my own self to lead.
I see that I must let go of ‘publishing’ for any of the ego reasons: the expectations, the money, the accolades, the race to the finish line, the ‘success.’ I must come back to the what, the why, sharing my work feeds an essential part of me.
Sounds selfish perhaps. But I am learning that for me it doesn’t work any other way.
There are words that spill from my heart and run down my face and find their way onto a page. Sometimes just into a notebook. Sometimes they get typed onto a computer. Sometimes I feel the need to share as a blog, a post, a newsletter.
What is this ‘next movement’ then? I don’t know yet. I only know that I feel the familiar nudge. I know I am moving into position, and the foundation is strengthening.
I also know it is yet another lesson in listening and patience and trust and faith.
I know I am not alone in this.
So though it may feel as if I stutter and stall, I am just pausing in the dance.
To listen carefully to the music. To wait for the next notes.
To open every pore in my skin in order to feel what is next in this sweet partnership with myself.