It's been copy, edit, re-write, repeat the last month.
Writing is strange. I realized in May that it has been a while since I had done any sort of journaling. So I started putting words to paper. The mess of spurting out thoughts and feelings. Which have slowly moved to working on "The Heart of Shaharzad".
I didn't think this would be a part of my journey. This writing part. Though why I didn't, I'm not sure. I've always put things together. Reworking - adapting and connecting - writing.
There has been a great deal of freedom in this piece. And maybe it is just the nature of this project. There are times in your life you feel at a cross roads. When you wonder what direction to take - knowing that things won't be the same - that things aren't the same.
This piece feels like a cross-roads.
I remember sitting and writing my thesis for graduate school. Someone had said - "Just write it. Just get it done." I stubbornly ignored their words. I wanted to write something I was proud of - something that was me. Something that took all the pieces of what my three years of study had meant. And when it was done I was so proud of what I had written. It was me. I had poured myself into that two pounds of paper.
I've spent more time than usual in cars this summer. I'm grateful for the stillness. For the space to see new things. It has provided space for my brain to sift through words and ideas. To soak in time so I can find stillness to write.
I had a movement teacher tell me this summer - "trust yourself". It was an echo of earlier teachers. My constant battle to believe that my specific voice matters in the chaos of the world. That even as I learn new things, I can be me. That there are times for starting and learning. Times when it's ok not to know. But if art happens in the specifics - then Madeleine L'Engle is right. It is not a matter of how good we are compared to others - but it matters that we share our view of the world. Seen through the specifics of who we are.
Things take me time. Being me takes time. To learn and grow deeper into the particulars of this skin and bones and heart. I have felt the awkwardness at times of feeling disconnected from my actual age. Of doing things differently than the milestones my age dictates. And I search for what it means to 'be yourself' when you are bobbing at sea between lands of people I find pieces of connection to and don't belong to.
I copy the piece each time I work on it - date it as a new day and edit. Changing, reworking, letting go, cutting and learning that change is possible - for our work and lives. Layers upon layers of dated papers - showing the marked changes of words.
I listen to a song on repeat - writing and writing.
I hug this little creature who I have fallen in love with - me who never thought she would be a dog lover.
And I write to wrestle with things bigger than myself. I write to learn my own story. I write to share the specifics of words and ideas. I write to dive deeper into understanding and knowing what it means to find beauty in our world. I write to try to find order in the chaos.
I move between the silly and profound. Writing to understand healing in the dark places of life. Watching Korean Dramas at night delving into the silly and overly dramatic. And all of it is me...stepping deeper into what it means to know and be known in the world.
I'm writing out what it means to see the world through this heart, body, and mind - as it dips deeper into the world and time. And maybe I'm learning to trust myself. Trust that I can grow and change and see the world more clearly. And maybe I write it out to find moments of stillness - to be able to let go of all that I do not understand. But being willing to be present and trust that for today that is enough.