Well, I have to say I’ve been trying to communicate with you for days now. I start off my letters to you – like now – then segue into some form of ugh in two shakes. I don’t do ‘ugh’. It’s way too unsettling. But it’s because my stomach isn’t handling my latest situation well. Neither is my head nor my heart. I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. I know, eh? This coming from the woman who believes there is no such thing as a mistake. It seems Houston has a problem. And the only solution I can come up with is that this Major Tom needs to start telling a new story.
Change is a bitch. Come on, let’s face it. No matter who you are, no matter how much you might want to do something different, take the road less travelled; no matter how convinced you are that you’re prepared for any and every eventuality, once you step off that cliff edge you’re freefalling and you’ve no real idea what will happen. You’ve no parachute; no net. You can hope you don’t crash and burn, but you’ve no way of knowing until you actually do make it to the bottom. In my case, I’m still freefalling but it feels more like I’ve hit the bottom, didn’t stick, and bounced. I recall the enthusiasm I mustered when heading to Ireland; the hope I held when travelling to a strange new town on Vancouver Island. This time, I feel like I’m just bouncing. And it’s making me sick. So, what of that fresh narrative?
Well, I guess I can start telling myself all is well. I can remind myself of my faith in the book (which still needs a lot of editing) and I can feel into the anticipation I have for its release. I can tap into some appreciation for having written it even though I don’t really feel any of it right now. I can reassure myself that I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I need to be doing despite feeling discouraged. And though I miss the privacy of the ‘home’ I had on the Island and miss the friends I made there, I can tell myself all is well. And lastly, I can remind myself that I chose this path and thought it was the best one for me at the time.
So, how do I feel now after telling myself something different? Not much better, but not quite as queasy. And that’s good enough for now.
My wish tonight is for the courage and creativity to tell a new story even when you don’t believe it. We’re good at telling ourselves all kinds of lies, aren’t we? Why not tell ourselves a different truth, one that’ll direct us toward our most silver lining. We know we’re feeling crappy and unsettled but focussing on unsettled and crappy will only bring on more of the same. I, for one, want settled and wonderful. I bet you want those, too.