Water Lilies by Claude Monet
I don’t know what to write for my newsletter.
The thought has become my shadow this week. It tiptoes behind me, watching me put the dishes away or put my hair up in the mirror. It lurks. It peeks. It taunts.
I don’t know what to write for my newsletter.
Life feels different, as of late. Life is different. I guess I’ll tell you why.
My mornings remain slow, sacred, unscathed. In the quiet of the kitchen, I boil water and grind coffee beans. I pour the grounds into the French press, then drench them in hot water. Wait six minutes. Press. Pour a steaming mug of fresh, aromatic coffee. Drink it on the front porch steps in the sun.
The recent wildfires from Canada have obscured my morning sun routine, clouding the sky with a thin sheen of grit. I hope everyone’s okay.
I can see the bottom of my mug now. Time to write.
The last 6 months of my life have been a merry-go-round of convincing myself I like what I do.
I stumbled into freelance writing by accident, but surprisingly, client work picked up quickly. One gig led to another. Suddenly, I was a decently successful freelance writer.
I don’t have a boss! I have full autonomy! I can take vacation whenever I want!
But my feet felt waterlogged as I dragged myself up the stairs to arrive at my desk.
In reality, I was lonely, isolated, and creatively drained. My newsletter suffered. My novel collected dust. The Twitter threads I swore to be consistent with vanished into the night. Sure, I gained expertise and grew confidence; but goodness, I didn’t realize how desperately I needed change.
That’s a particularly charming characteristic of this life — we get exactly what we need, when we need it, when we have no clue we need it in the first place.
Two weeks ago, I started a new job, the kind that lights my soul up. And with the chaotic hustle of freelancing behind me, I feel liberated. As in, float down the stairs in the morning to my French Press like a Disney princess liberated. Sometimes, doves even flutter around my head in the shape of a lightbulb. My creativity feels reborn and rejuvenated. I’ve started a new novel. I’ve popped back up on Twitter. I’m reading more than I have in months. I feel inspired, awake, and relentlessly alive.
Ah, but my shadow.
I don’t know what to write for my newsletter.
I read somewhere about Blue Mind Theory, the meditative state humans fall into when we’re near water. The mere proximity of it puts our souls at ease. Humans are designed for simplicity, for slowness, for languid periods of rest and grace and existential softness. Such is the nature of water: fluid, peaceful, restorative.
Perhaps life transitions are like this. Perhaps it’s okay to send an unexciting diary entry to your email subscribers every now and then. Something tells me this life transition of mine is less about shadows and more about water, anyway.
My take-away from this beautiful piece: If you become aware of your shadows and address them, you begin to move like water. Only then does life become more peaceful and fluid, and each morning a restorative ritual.
Beautiful reflection. Ride the wave, G 🌊