Some days I get weary of myself.
Forever poetizing about life and not living it.
Living at half speed, always in sight of land.
If I was outside looking in, I would kick my own incompetent butt sometimes.
I think that’s why I love writing so much.
I can try on different lives, if only for a paragraph.
As a writer, I can research and learn about anything.
The very thought of that is like fresh air.
I spent one whole week researching tree houses (binge watching treehouse masters is considered research people), just to realize my character doesn’t live in a treehouse at all but that I would LOVE to.
I’m the nerd of learning. I am not good at it but I really, really enjoy it.
Here's the catch:
99 out of 100 times, the stories worth telling are not in my head.
They are in the humans around me.
The post-office lady with the bags under her eyes, the bellman who whistles, the homeless man hiding in the parking garage even when the police told him not to.
Stories. So many stories.
And I love them. Every single word that I have been blessed to hear from each precious soul.
I’ve always been a good listener. One of my favorite humans gave me this advice when I was a teenager. “You can get anyone to talk. It’s human nature to want to communicate. You just have to ask the right questions.” With a handful of exceptions, this tip has worked every single time.
But there is still the leaving the house thing. The getting outta bed part. The picking up my give-a-dang. The trying.
To get to the stories worth telling, I gotta get out of my comfort zone, my sphere and my house. Not in that order.
On hard days, I trust in inertia. I start moving and trust that I will continue moving, believing that the only force that can stop me from rolling is *drumroll* ….me.
On the days when my brain is toast, my hair is greasy and I wanna kick my own ass, I’ve come up with a recipe of how to love myself outta “self-weariness”.
Do something hard each day.
Provide an act of service to a fellow human.
Learn one new thing each day.
Be curious. Ask a question each day. Be okay not getting an answer. (sitting with unanswered questions is the most powerful space to write from).
That’s it. This is all I got.
It's a raw enough answer to be real.
Is it perfect? Not even close.
But it’s inertia and it gets me to the stories worth telling.
What’s your recipe for getting yourself to get your act together?