“I haven’t been as regular in posting,” I said to the man on the other end of a Skype connection.
“Why do you think that is?” he asked kindly.
I was in the middle of a podcast interview last weekend and his question gave me pause.
My answer centered on my desire to turn this project into a book and how with each new post I ask myself, “Is this the last one before I stop?”
There is truth in that sentiment and when I take off my interviewee hat and listen to my heart I hear this too.
I am getting tired of risking my vulnerability here.
Not in an exasperated way. It’s not that I’m over it – not in the least.
Rather, sharing my search for good and beautiful things has left me open and raw and seeking connection with other brave peace warriors. Sometimes this internet space is not as fulfilling as Instagram tells me it will be.
I talk about grief and joy and feelings and fewer want to engage with these truths than with work-out routines and make-up tips and how to make the perfect soufflé.
This practice, my friends, takes time and emotional fortitude and sometimes I wonder if I’ve still got what it takes. Whatever “it” is.
All the doubts creatives have start trickling in and I question – Is this really the best place for me to process my way through the world?
And then, I read this tweet by Jon Acuff:
“You can hold your breath and pretend your perfect, shoving those fears back into a quiet corner or you can be vulnerable and brave enough to ignore the handful of people who will mock your vulnerability because they are terrified of their own. You get to choose each day.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and climbed out of my dark corner. My fingers began to twitch with the need to keep typing tales of my life and the beauty found here.
I am not terrified of my vulnerability – only in how you will receive my expressions – and the difference there is much more about you than me.
This week I’ve been sick, coughing until abs I did not know I had in my body are sore. I’m constantly sucking on Ricola, the Swiss sweets soothing my scratchy throat.
I slept for eleven hours thanks to the help of Tylenol PM.
My body is recovering and in my resting I’m making lists of the beautiful while my body shakes from gack in my chest.
Here’s the beautiful things surrounding me as I start again:
Big bowls of bright red cherries – bursting with juice
Rolling thunderstorms clouds and quaking thunder claps
Butterflies with patterned wings
Lemon Mint cough drops
Drives to the airport with accents
An ounce of bravery for tough conversations
Warm cups of tea
There’s so much beauty and good and holy things around me, even when I feel raw, achy and sore.
Why do you think that is?