It’s true. Everything is going exactly how it should be. It’s going exactly how you think it should.
But that’s deceiving isn’t it?
It really is all about the way you perceive things to be. Really it is, I promise.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Pull up a chair, and get yourself a nice warm cup of tea. Bourbon if you’re a bit of a philosopher, or perhaps a nice little snort of Irish whiskey to warm your insides up against the February outside.
When life collides with the inner machinations of my mind, it gives me cause to pause and let it all trickle in to wherever it’s supposed to settle.
Lately, my full-time gig has not been going as hoped. Don’t get me wrong, I continue to do something I absolutely feel called to do, and I work with the best in my profession.
I also, as it seems, am called to do this writing thing. That wild, unpredictable energy has formed part of my bones and blood since I was a little girl with pigtails and collecting buckets full of crickets.
My living expenses and need to help other people call me to work, my soul calls me to writing. Damn this dissonance of being human!
With my first bookie wookie in the hands of an editor, and my second, being more carefully plotted, I feel the pull to my writing desk much stronger than ever before.
My window opens to evergreens and dogwood. Not bad for a cityscape. A church-window-esque trellis, and the French obelisk in my urban guerilla garden stand as testaments to milder temperatures, longer hours of sunshine, dishes with fresh basil, and cold drinks adorned by fresh mint.
On the desk to my right, is a solar-powered windchime which helps bring me back when my creative brain wanders. A porcelain snail commemorative of a healing sweat lodge keeps the chime company. The left hand side – a full third of the desk – has been sequestered by my cat, Willie Nelson, who routinely stretches and switches off my wireless capability. With a desk like this, who wouldn’t be tempted to eek out a living by lounging here, lost in the intimacy of language and imagination?
Lately, more often than not, I’ve felt just plain lost. I Facebook, I YouTube, I stare at the squirrels jumping from limb to limb. My little carnelian stones spin to strike the chimes, and I am reminded to be in the moment.
Impatience gets the better of me sometimes. For this, I recommend my method of using the f-word and indulging in pleasure of the flesh. Maybe just a nip or two of something strong enough to remind me I’m not dead yet, even if it feels like it on the inside. In extreme cases I recommend bed wrestling with a naked partner.
I have lived long enough to know that despair is a menacing thing. It closes the door on the divine human spirit. So, although in my loneliness I get close to embracing despair, I know that there will always be a light on my path just when darkness is about to fully envelop my thoughts.
Today that light came in the form of an email message from my pal in Brazil. A mother-figure, healer, and spiritual mentor of mine for over 13 years, she sent off an email which started exactly the same way that my email to her was going to begin, “I don’t know why, but you have been on my mind the past few days”.
So often this happens with me, that I intuit my own need to connect with someone else’s. In this case, I had been so busy working that I hadn’t stopped to take time to email. You see, that’s the way it was meant to be. My reaching out yesterday would not have given me the gift of her email which needed to receive.
As I’ve been trudging through the themes and characters of my next book, it has become hysterically clear that the protagonist’s character has been put upon with my own scheming philosophy of being. Poor darling. I think I shall give her at least one bad habit to take the edge off.
The email from my Canadian ex-pat friend in Brazil comes on the heels of last night’s writing, and weaves together perfectly with my own personal struggle to indulge my passion while paying the bills, as well as the main theme of my book.
The information in her email also happens to be the latch to the hook of my friend’s thesis.
The long and the short of it, my dear ones, is that life works its way out as you are willing to allow it.
Whether a day is good or full of potential and learning is totally up to you.
For now I’ll stick to my writing desk and my day job. I will resist the urge to pack my bathing suit with the worn out ass and my toothbrush into my ever-ready carry-on bag, and head to the airport for a one-way ticket to Anywhere Else.
It’s all coming together. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and surrounding myself with people who are the same vintage of crazy as I am.
Go ahead, pour yourself another tumbler-full. After all, philosophizing is best done in the company of writers, alcohol and a wailing guitar.