Hello dear friend,
It has been a while. I've missed you and the possibility you hold in your vastness. I've loathed you and the unending depths you put out there that I can't muster the energy to explore. And I've thought a whole lot about you and the self I too access by being here, in a place that is quiet and wonderous but also dark and lonely. I wonder, why do I tiptoe around this space, this self, with such fear? What am I afraid of?
It's been nearly five years -- FIVE -- since I've sat here with a blank page, choosing to dig up the energy to fill it. To feel what it feels to write. And you know what? It feels really, really good. It's a deep release of control in many ways, which is funny because writing is so much about control, which words to choose and which to leave out. It's a world we create on the page, but this world is a reflection of the self, an extension of the self even. And for me, I simultaneously feel relief and a tug at my throat, my shoulders drop and tears brim at my eyes, as if waiting for something to release them completely.
For a long time, I've made myself feel guilty for not coming here to express myself in a way that feels whole and good and vulnerable. I've always wanted to consider myself a writer and yet I'm embarrassed at how easy it's been to step around this space, or rather, to deliberately avoid it. But if I'm honest, I'm writing every day in my head even if it doesn't make the page. That voice in me is begging to be unleashed, to have the opportunity to see what it wants to say. Uninhibited and raw and exhausted.
I've started and stopped writing too many times to count. I've made resolutions and commitments and goals again and again. And who knows if this time will be different. But I'm here, embracing the quiet and willing to see what beauty and pain is lurking there beneath its blank surface.
Thank you, friend, for always being here. For putting out a hand and pulling me back in. I didn't realize how much I've been holding back, and I'm a bit terrified still to see what I might discover. But isn't that the point of all of this? To see what is there beneath the surface, to study it, embrace it and perhaps make waves that break the calmness up above and also make room for the unexpected. Today may only make ripples but it's a start. And today, that can be enough.
With love,
Mel
