Letting go of responsibilities that prevent us from writing
This week has been odd. Mercury isn’t in retrograde. The full moon has passed. Yet for some reason it feels like bananas are growing on the evergreens.
It’s been one of those weeks where I have been rowing up stream with teeny tiny toothpicks.
I feel flu-ish and dizzy and convinced, each day I’ll wake up sick.
My sleep is more erratic than usual. Words feel caught in my throat. My sensitivity radar is on higher alert than normal.
I have several half-written pieces, and each one I can’t seem to find their inner flow.
I’m out of sorts.
Which got me contemplating my inner wildebeesties.
Why do I write?
Why am I here?
Swoosh! Down an existential rabbit hole which led me to a lovely discovery.
But first, a little back story.
This past February, the Pacific Northwest was hit with a wicked snowstorm and I was snowbound for a week.
Quietness isn’t new to me, but this was different.
I couldn’t get out. The roads were blocked. Everything was canceled.
And in that strangeness, something beautiful happened.
I realized nothing was holding me back from writing.
All the daily responsibilities were gone.
Apart from shoveling the snow, making ample pots of coffee or tea and listening to the cocooning snow globe effect of silence — I was able to write worry free.
The snowstorm granted me permission to write!
Which brings me to now and I why I’ve been so off.
I forgot that permission and revisited the land of old criticisms which were full-on, super-duper and mean.
BUT!! I stopped and listened to my aches and pains and flu-ish feels and ‘we’ regrouped.
Medium is a place for me to expand and experiment and play with my words.
I can write outside the lines of ordinary. I can be sentimental, humorous, adventurous. I can give advice or not.
Here, I meet new writers and read and learn.
We even clap for each other!
That really, really tickles me!! 😍
However, the best part is I have granted myself permission to write.
There’s no limit! No ceiling, floor, walls — but doors and windows that lead to the elements of imagination.
Writing is dreaming while awake and in that altered state of consciousness words become holograms of sedimentary rocks; the layers show me where my ambivalence, fear, anger, humor, happiness, and joy lives.
I can even create new creatures!!!!
What a privilege!
Writing literally holds my hand!! Damn, that’s positively beautiful.
It’s a cornucopia of revelations and an incredible freedom.
You and me, we have full permission to write and to be our most beautiful, brilliant, and creative selves.
Here’s the essay that inspired this piece:
Loving Me for the First Time
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Carolyn Riker is a poet, writer and author. She has two books of poetry: Blue Clouds and This is Love. She is working on a third book of poems and her first novel. In addition to writing, she has a private practice as a highly sensitive mental health therapist. If you would like to read more of her words, follow her on Facebook at Carolyn Riker, MA, LMHC.