Beginning Again

Each night l ask my boyfriend, “What was the best part of your day?” Whether it was the adrenaline rush of a particularly good wave that he caught, or the support of a friend helping him with his music, or the feeling of accomplishment from having built some part of a house, his answer is always at root the same: his favorite part was that which inspired him most, that which fed him on deep levels and gave meaning to his life. I love watching his whole body smile and relax as he remembers the good stuff, and in listening to him, I feel myself relax , too. As he softens I am reminded that when I focus on what inspires me, I tap into the essence of what makes me feel like the boss of my life, like the “captain of my soul,” so elegantly put in the poem that serves as the namesake of the recent, and notably inspiring film, Invictus. Put more simply, when I maximize the positive, I feel better.

I know writing about my life empowers me to essentially steer my life, but so often I resist this constant intuitive guidance of mine with the excuse that life is too busy and I’m too tired and I don’t have time to write long essays anymore. But right now I am particularly stuck. I have outgrown a long-standing and limiting job description and yet I don’t have the clarity to see what I want my new role to be. I’ve got a job and I long for a purpose. I ache for a livelihood that is a natural extension of my own values and abilities and that allows me to feel empowered and to be of service and connected to other people. But I know that to achieve that end I must be more specific about what I seek. I am at a crossroads and the road looks foggy; I cannot tell where to turn. But I do know that when lack of clarity ails me, writing is my prescribed, tried-and-true medication. The thought occurred to me that maybe I don’t need to be so black-and-white in my perception of what a blog should be. Maybe it need not take hours to discern my purpose each day. Perhaps I could write each night simply the distilled essence of what thought, word, action or otherwise inspired me during that day. Perhaps I could simply log here the best part of my day, or even, the worst part of my day (and what it says about me that it was so bad), or perhaps, the most important part? Perhaps in the moments where I feel the most sensation, there is truth, and that is why I feel them so deeply. Perhaps those truthful moments are where I need to place my attention, because in a way these moments are signposts, directing me along on my path. Even in my foggy present I am comforted and anchored by the memory that when I wrote on a regular basis, I never questioned my decisions. I just knew what I needed to know.

When the world felt crazy, writing saved me. I know it can do so again.