{*Did you know you can write on Elephant? Here’s how—big changes: How to Write & Make Money or at least Be of Benefit on Elephant. ~ Waylon}
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Lately, I have been more into living than writing.
I spend all day thinking and feeling as a therapist.
It’s felt so important to have lightness and play — fun dinners and hikes with friends, coffee dates, silly texts and memes, and time decorating my new home.
Of course, I have guilt. She parades around in a panic-laced flurry of thoughts and what-if’s. I “should” be writing more. What the hell is wrong with me!? Why don’t I feel the same drive? Set more writing time aside. Now! And sure, there is always a fresh balance to be found.
But I am struck hard by this need for belonging, that for years, felt starved. I didn’t know how to feed it. I felt too weird. Too sensitive. Too hyper. Too everything and not enough something. Connecting was hard, impossible at times. I felt shut down and I wasn’t often around people who fully accepted me. Pretending to be normal is f*cking exhausting, as it turns out.
Solitude was easier.
When alone, I didn’t have to mask my endlessly active ADHD brain. Then, I could be myself.
Change comes, as it always does. It happens in hues and textures braiding together—the past, the present, my needs, my desires. It’s woven by a thread of curiosity.
Change is a constant dance. At this point, I don’t expect anything else.
Because the hunger for words is still there. And it always will be. I will always make space for it.
But I am meeting a fresh edge. The only choice is to lean in.
We cannot cut ourselves off from inevitable expansion and growth. What felt good 10 years ago may not be what is needed now. That’s okay.
And it is so okay to follow the nose of our shifting needs, the deep soul stirrings that pull us in whispers and pour out of the sky like stars.
It’s tender. It’s scary.
I feel myself gripping onto what used to work best, who I used to be, what I used to need. I think burnout comes when we cling to those old ways of doing things. When we resist the natural ebbs and flows that are inherent to life. To being fleshy and learning and human.
This is when I tell myself—“that was all great back then, honey, but this is a new chapter. A fresh map is needed. One you are creating now. It isn’t finished yet. And there is so much beauty in that.”
It also strikes me that this is a rather novel feeling itself—wanting to fully participate in life. For a long time, I very much wanted to avoid life. Just tuck me away somewhere beautiful and let me write. Alone was everything. It was vast and expansive. Safe.
I couldn’t feel more different today. And that’s good. It’s growth.
For sure, life can be annoying and tiring—but there is such joy to be found in the monotony of tasks and chores, work, and being with people in real and raw ways that constantly challenge and soften me.
Communities and relationships are never perfect. But they are so nourishing.
I am not the person I was 10 or 12 or 15 years ago. And in five more, I’m sure I’ll have shed my skin another 10 times, like we all do. Whether we want to — or not. Life sands us down and opens our hearts over and over again. It breaks us, bends us, shows us who we are, and who we are not.
It is best to welcome it. It is best to look it in the eye.
So I am going to trust connection as a guidepost right now. I will let curiosity have its way with me. I will take my lessons learned from the lusciousness of solitude—and I will take them with softness and grace.
And most importantly, I will remember that we are allowed to change and stretch. It’s okay to need different things at different times.
It is not wrong or bad. It is balance. It is the pulse of life. It is meant to be embraced . Leapt into with open arms. Enjoyed, like the sunset sliding down the mountainside in a thousand shades of raspberry sorbet.
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