I’m claiming this as my year.
You probably know what it feels like to commit to something, and to ride the wave of emotions and lessons that inevitably show up when we commit.
I write things. And then I join or organize conversations around whatever I write. I must come from a tribe of people like that because it is definitely deeply embedded.
This writer’s life is not for punk asses. It’ll make a sufferer or a spiritual warrior out of you; sometimes both. But then you realize that warrior in you fights on behalf of the storyteller. And that the story, not the war, can be the point of focus.
As a resulting of leaving the corporate world and following my desire to write, I get full access to fear, doubt, and failure. In the best interests of my sanity and my soul, I am in a very present relationship with my God and my ancestors. I call upon them all the time to ground me when I’m sure my ass is about to keel over from all the failed projects, rejected manuscripts, no-selling products, and slow-moving possibilities.
Money and mindset get funny sometimes. And I doubt myself. You know that feeling, right? But no matter how much tides ebb, I always, always come back to my Old Knowings.
Those old knowings are pointing me in a particular direction. They’re waking me up to the truth that I am really finding my voice as a writer. I’ve heard people say that before, but I don’t think I really understood what it meant until now.
For me, it means that I write to express myself and to represent the stifled voices of the ones who look and live like me.
For me, it means that I write in attempts to learn about the rest of the world, and to meet interesting people. And to grow as a person.
For me, it means I can be both compassionate and adamant. Flexible, but still firm. It means I can look James Baldwin and Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou in the eyes and say that I treat storytelling like the sacred art that it is.
When I approach my work that way, the deeper meanings and greater impact begin trusting me to telling their stories. That’s what I listen out for. That’s why I teach people how to farm their own brilliance. And how to listen to their children. And how to ask themselves how they want to feel.
I’m in my 70-30 flow. I even hear different things that I normally hear. I listen differently now. I hear a voice in my mind that clarifies all the words and ideas that come in. It’s like I have a translator for what my thoughts means in terms of my writing and my life. I feel spiritually strong.
I’m claiming this as my year. And my biggest order of business is to be at peace with myself. Warriors don’t fight forever. Eventually, the warrior—in my story—wins.