Just a Crack...

I have not been writing as much as I used to.  The word slow-down started when I began my job in January.  Suddenly, it seemed, there was no time for words.  I used to have space in my day and in my mind where words would take hold.   I didn't even have to try.  After I started working more, the spaces in my days and in my mind were taken over with "to do" lists and my client's stories.  So many stories.  It was almost impossible for me to write because the words of their stories took center stage.  

I missed the space for my words to find their place.

At the end of April it seemed there would be lots of time for words again.  My job was gone.  Suddenly the stories stopped.  Someone had pressed "stop" and "eject" without my permission.  Things came to a drastic, painful, all-consuming end, and I wasn't ready.  There were words in my mind and on my screen then.  Seventeen pages of words that described my experience with toxicity and confusion, and stories of others living in fear and repression.  I shared those stories and I waited.

Suddenly, I had lots of time again.

Sometimes the thing you need to do most is the very thing you oppose and push away with every morsel of your being.  It's often like this for me.  When I feel the most alone and am filled with sadness, I have an overwhelming desire to shut the blinds, lock the doors, and burrow myself into my bed, only coming out when I must.  When I have the most words to write, are the times I often feel paralysed to even open my computer.  The more I obey the feelings that isolate me, the more impossible it is to move forward.

Finally, this week, I heard stories again.  I saw people.  I heard phrases and expressions that gave way to my imagination.  The beginnings of blog posts appeared in my mind as my head lay on my pillow at night.  My consumption with the abrupt ending to the job I loved was shifting into the background.  It's still in the picture.  I can still see it in every view and every scene.  But it's no longer always in the foreground.

And so, I'll begin again.

I'll begin because it's good for me.
Because I have things to say.
Because I feel more alive when I do.
Because there are voices and stories all around me that need to be told.
Because I must.

This is my attempt at cracking the blinds open a little and letting some light in.
Perhaps,  I may even have a little light to let out.
I know there is darkness to let out;  I'll have to be ok with exposing that too.

I do know one thing.
You can't move forward unless you begin.  Again.