No. 006
Saturday, Feb. 25, 2023
Hi friends,
Happy Saturday!
As some of you may have noticed, my newsletter has had an identity crisis since birth. I began with the intent of sharing my personal journey towards mindfulness, and ended up randomly sharing an inconsistent smattering of oddities. Pretty true to form, actually.
But over time, it's became apparent to me that my true passion is vulnerability and personal storytelling. That's why I've decided to rebrand my newsletter to better convey this focus.
Starting next month, Messy to Mindful will be Turning Pages.
I believe that we all have many books in the anthologies of our lives. I'm pretty sure I'm on number seven or eight, and there are many chapters in each — beautiful seasons and stories in which we learn timeless lessons and experience memorable moments.
I've always loved the epigraphs at the start of book chapters, those little gems that hint at the deeper meanings to come. As I write my way through life, my reflections serve as epigraphs that document each chapter. This newsletter is the anthology, gathering the interesting nuggets and treasures I discover amidst the mess of turning pages.
I acknowledge that my newsletter hasn't been very consistent, but I'm hoping that feeling more aligned with its purpose will make it easier for me to put my heart into it. I don't expect that I'll always hit the mark perfectly, but I do hope that this new energy will help me create a newsletter that you'll feel inspired to open and soak in.
So, friends, let's have a toast to a new chapter of messy reflections and mindful pondering. I'm excited to continue exploring the complexities of life with you, so please join me on this journey of Turning Pages.
Best wishes and warmest regards,
Erin
Silence.
That's what's been filling the space around here lately. It's been weeks. Actually, scratch that. It's been months. It's been fun upping my game on Twitter, but let's be honest, I'm no social media guru.
Let's just say, 280 characters or less was the maximum threshold for pressure that I could handle.
The truth is, I've been stuck. Frozen in time, suspended, the force of something intangible pressing around me on all sides, something I couldn’t quite place the name for until now.
Resistance.
If you’re also a passionate writer, you know that words are as necessary as oxygen, as key to survival as food and water. Their steady stream is as crucial as the blood flowing through your body, bringing life to every cell, waking your brain with their promise and flushing your skin with their beauty.
So what happens when the flow slows to a trickle, and the trickle finally succumbs to stone and everything goes gray and cold?
What do you do when the words stop?
.
Have you ever noticed how mesmerizing fog can be?
From a distance, it's a beautiful sight, the way it slowly approaches, curling and swaying, enveloping everything in its misty embrace and making the familiar seem mystical.
But as it inches closer, the beauty gives way to a suffocating sense of unease.
Soon, the thick, choking air obscures everything you know, leaving you disoriented and vulnerable to the unseen.
That's where I found myself, locked in place like a stone, curled up shielding what was most vulnerable. I knew that if I could just rise above the fog, I would feel the warmth of the sun again, enough to coax words from my mind to the page.
But I lacked the strength.
.
You see, that’s the problem with being your own nemesis.
As the mastermind behind your own plan, you know exactly how to defeat it.
I'm intimately familiar with the art of self-sabotage. It's a cruel game that I've become an expert at over the course of my lifetime. Whenever things start to go well, I find a way to mess them up. I procrastinate, sabotage my relationships, and undermine my own success.
It's a never-ending tug-of-war, where I pour my heart and soul into achieving a modicum of success, only to watch it crumble beneath me. The fleeting moments of joy are always followed by the inevitable descent into melancholy.
For me, fear has always been at the root of this self-destruction.
Fear of not being good enough.
Fear of not being loved.
Fear of being abandoned.
Fear, fear, fear.
Being your own enemy is a lonely game. It's an exhausting battle that I'm learning to let go of, because I know that I'll never truly live until I stop fighting myself.
.
Earlier this week, a friend shared their experience with the Resistance. Their beautifully-worded account shone a light so bright that it cut through the fog that had surrounded me for so long.
Suddenly, I realized that this frozen, fuzzy place where the words don't flow and everything is gray and cold, this is exactly where I am supposed to be.
It is here that I am meant to learn how to build the fire, how to paint the colors, and how to break the dam. It is here that I am meant to learn how to clear the fog — by sharing the fog.
My path forward lies in finding the words to describe my loss of words.
I haven't written in weeks, but today, as I let all of this out, I feel a sliver of sun peek through the gray and begin to warm my bones. It's a reminder that even in the dullest of moments, there is still brilliance beyond the fog.
And that's what this art is all about, isn't it? Finding the cracks in the stone and the glimmers of light in the darkness and sharing them with the world.
.
I don't know how to write about this epiphany without making it into something bigger than it is, as if I'm trying to conjure something profound from the mundane. I want the words to be beautiful and the images to be meaningful and the message to reach resonate so that anyone else stuck in that lonely, gray place doesn't feel alone.
But even as I do, I hear the inner voice saying, “You're trying too hard. It's not that deep. Stop trying to make it important.”
The truth is, it's nothing grandiose, just a small realization that the Resistance is not an obstacle, but an opportunity.
The Resistance is a part of the journey.
So I'll embrace it, with all its complexities and challenges. I'll reach far into the mist, feeling the weight of the lack of clarity.
I'll take my frozen hands and dig a well of deep and dark truths, giving the flow of words a place to rise, right here where I am.
Thanks for joining me on this journey, folks! Remember to take care of yourself, give a stranger a compliment, and always carry a spare pen. Until next time! ✍️😊👋
“So, friends, let's have a toast to a new chapter of messy reflections and mindful pondering.”
Heck yeah, go Erin!!!
You’ve been killing it on Twitter, I don’t know how you do it. It’s such a struggle for me.
This hits so hard:
“You're trying too hard. It's not that deep. Stop trying to make it important.”
Great issue, looking forward to more :)
"As the mastermind behind your own plan, you know exactly how to defeat it." What a poignant and intriguing insight this is. It immediately resonates with my experience without having to think about it, while inviting me to consider it more deeply at the same time. And this, "Being your own enemy is a lonely game." That is an incredible sentence. There is so much packed into that condensed observation. Would love to see a whole article on this. In any case, just wanted you to know that, yes, you did reach one person through the fog and convey the warmth of good company on the path of resistance. Well done, and good luck making your way through the cracks in the stone.