Love and Loss

Hello Lovely Humans, 

Note: I wrote the post below a few days ago. As I sit here proofreading it before hitting 'send' I feel it's necessary to acknowledge and honor that today, one year ago, George Floyd was unjustly murdered by Derek Chauvin in Minneapolis. Not just for George Floyd, but for the countless other humans whose lives have been taken too early due to the racist policies and social structures that we are all profoundly caught up in, I want to take a moment to pause and reflect. We still have so much work to do. I still have so much work to do. Today and for a lifetime. 

______________________

I've been quiet here for a bit now. My pull towards writing as a form of sharing is a deep one, but absolutely fickle. So many times I've sat down with paper and pen or at my keyboard with a bit of inspiration, only to have it leave me a moment later.  It's frustrating. I love the possibilities of playing with movement and flow of words, the pause and emphasis on the page. Even now, just a few sentences into this email, my breath is softening and I can feel the furrow in my brow easing.

Writing, when I approach it as a medium for expression and exploration, is a balm for my heart and my head. The light scratch of pen across paper centers me. The flow and focused awareness grounds me. And when it becomes a task to perform, or a means to an end? That's when the flow is interrupted, when the tension returns, when the frustration sets in. 

Why is it that we're so good at sabotaging something we love, something that sources us, by telling ourselves it's something we "should" do? How did we get so skilled at sucking the joy out of an experience because we feel obligated to stick with it? 

So as I write this, I'm reminding myself to go easy. Reminding myself that more important than anything, writing this letter and then pressing 'send' is a way to share my heart and my life with you all. It's only when I get caught up in the "should" of this exchange, that I clam up. That my brain resists. So today, like every day, I'm reminding myself WHY I write. Why I move my body. Why I rest. Not out of obligation, but out of love.