Peeling Back Layers

Photo by Dawn Armfield on Unsplash

It's been way too long since I've looked at this blog let alone contribute to it. It's not that I haven't written. I have but in other spaces and places. But, today, for some reason I returned here - to the blog where I tried to start years ago.

Perhaps you can say I'm a wanderer. It seems fitting. Or maybe it's because when I started writing, I was unsure of myself. Confidence wasn't something that I had a lot of back then and evidently held me back from many things. Until it didn't. To tell you all the nooks and crannies of how I got from there to here would take a while. It may even bore you. Or maybe it wouldn't. But regardless, it is still my story to tell. Pieces of a life spanning forty-something years filled with beauty, ugliness, chaos and even madness. Or should I say the craziness of life - beautiful in all of its ugliness?

Here is what I can tell you, however. I started to write as a catharsis for my grief. And as I wrote, I discovered that I enjoyed it and that perhaps, I was even good at it. But it is easy to be dismissive and self-critical. It is easy to let fear hold you back even when your gut tells you that you can do this. So, my writing would wane from time to time, and when it did, I clearly noticed its absence from my life. Then, when I would write again, I would feel such a sense of exhilaration - a euphoria. A sense of accomplishment. And, sometimes, even relief; especially when my writing was born from something significant - compelling me to face my emotions and embrace the necessity of letting them go.

The recurring observation through all of this is that writing is my constant companion. It's always whispering in my ear "You can do this. You should do this." And, I must admit, I've shushed that voice frequently. I sit here and ask myself why I did this when I know that it is helping me to heal and to grow. It's been the adventure that has me ziplining through forests I didn't know existed - all in a subtle attempt to reinvent myself. I can't explain the dormancy. I really don't know. But what I do know is that when one door closed the window opened at a time when I needed it most. So slowly and steadily I have carved out a path in my life that has brought me to here.

I write from the heart, from an inner place that is often complex and deep with emotions. The words start to flow, and I try to capture and construct them into something shareable and relatable. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I don't. I'm told that my words have inspired and that I can make even the ugliest flower beautiful. Maybe so. But creating art with my words is something that is meaningful to me. Whether it is poetry or prose or that novel that sits in my drafts folder waiting for me patiently to set it free, I write because when I do, I'm content and happy and free.

But, I must confess that at times I am envious. I stand on the sidelines and witness friends of mine whose writing is well recognized and who have held steadfast to their determination to make it their life's work. I admire them. But we are each different, and although our voices are many, we each have a pitch that is just ours. While our audiences range in size and demographics, I am hopeful that my voice reaches a few or even a few thousand some day.

I don't profess to be an excellent writer. I am far from it. I'm not sure I can classify it as my talent either; especially since to me, it is more of an art. But, I am someone who enjoys writing. I sculpt and paint and dance with words. They are the breakfast, lunch, and dinner made from a recipe where life is the main ingredient.

It wasn't easy to peel back the first layer and I remember being filled with apprehension the first time I shared my writing publicly. My hand shook as I finally served up the courage to click the publish button. I remember feeling relieved, scared and happy all at the same time. Looking back, releasing that fear and exposing an inner part of myself was probably one of the best things I ever did. Not only did it help me to begin a healing process, but it also opened my eyes so that my lens could see more clearly. I had performed cataract surgery and didn't even realize it at the time. From there, I began to look with a broader perspective and with that the seed of creativity, which I think had been planted for some time, began to grow and its roots are strong.

Perhaps finding solace in sharing my musings was the catalyst I needed to make essential changes in my life. I eventually found my voice again and my confidence. I started to speak up for myself, to champion what I believe in, and to not let the turkeys get me down. By the way, thanks for that wise piece of advice, mom. I wish you knew how much your three nuggets of wisdom have helped me gain clarity these past few years.

There is no doubt that writing, along with exercise therapy, is my outlet. It's been my release, especially during difficult hurdles and circumstances. I spent a lot of time confined to professional toxicity, yet I managed to find a way to survive; and eventually, leave it behind. Slowly facing fears, slowly learning to fly, and slowly learning the art of reinventing myself. When I don't know what to do I write. Even if it is only in my mind I let the words flow, and usually, a confluence of ideas takes form, and I am better able to navigate the sea. If I hadn't started to write, I'm not sure I'd be where I am right now. My path could have gone a completely different way. So, I have to believe that this is my course.

One of the most compelling things for me is how I've been able to find the silver linings - even in the bleakest of moments. Much of my creativity and desire to write is fueled by my exercise therapy, my family and friends, and of course, nature. A brightly colored leaf, for example, once inspired me to write a poem. As did the pink sand sky on a cold winter's morning. It's incredible really when I think about what ignites an idea for a blog post. My most eye-opening revelation since this started is that inspiration is everywhere. But, you have to open your eyes to see it.

For a long time, I know that I walked around in a haze. Metaphorically speaking, of course. For any of you who have read some of my work, it's no big secret that I enabled complacency to shadow my life. It fed into my decisions, my fears, and my confidence level. But more importantly, it masked my authenticity, which was waiting patiently in the wings.

And, there was a time when I agreed with someone that I was damaged goods. Now, after time has passed and wounds have healed, damaged goods sounds so irreparable and I wonder if that was an appropriate analogy. Regardless, I put the pieces back together but in a new way - my way. I didn't let the negativity continue to consume me. I made a choice. I harnessed my resilience and I marched forward. And each time I got kicked, I kicked back. I own my imperfections and my vulnerabilities. They are a part of me.

It hasn't been an easy road getting to this point, and I suspect that roads ahead won't always be easy either. But, I've found the wonder in the road less traveled. I've smiled through tears and I've found lessons in the challenges. I've been spent. I've been tired. I've wished that for 5 minutes I didn't have to be strong. But through it all, I've never lost sight of the one thing that I always come back to, writing.

So, if you are just tuning in for the first time or you have followed my musings on other sites, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to read this, for giving me a chance, and for letting me continue to peel back the layers; especially the thickest ones that are the hardest to slice.