i cannot believe its been four months since the last time i wrote a blog post! i knew it’s been a little while but FOUR months?! sheesh! time really does fly!
i had intentions to write a post when the site turned one (11/24) which was also my 32nd birthday however i’ve been having a tough go of life as of late so when push came to shove to actually write the post, i just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
what’s been making my journey a little harder is that i can’t openly discuss all of the things i’m doing or experiencing right now (by openly i mean on social media). some moments are special and fun and i am able to share a bit of those, but some of the moments (a lot of them as of late) have been hard, emotionally draining, and just downright painful which have resulted in me sort of stepping away from my creative self.
social media just became an added stressor and i found myself avoiding it rather than trying to use it as an outlet for release. the guilt that followed though was unbearable so while i was still active on instagram, mentally and emotionally i was completely disconnected.
part of the reason i couldn’t bring myself to write the sites birthday post was because the two weeks leading up to my birthday i was experiencing some serious bouts of depression. most people make new year resolutions or set goals for themselves at the top of a new year. i consider the start of a new year my birthday so all of my goals and resolutions are set then.
the last two years i’ve had amazing years where i had met all of my goals and i was even doing things i never thought i would or could be doing. this year was totally different and as my birthday got closer, the pressure (i inflicted on myself) got increasingly intense.
i would have a couple good days and then three days of nothing but tears and darkness. generally i’m not a depressed person. i suffer more from anxiety but because of the emotional roller coaster of extreme emotional high to extreme emotional low i had been riding for months had finally stopped dead on the the tracks, i felt stuck. lost.
deeply disappointed in myself and in the universe.
and disappointment is the one emotion i work tirelessly to avoid at all costs.
in my few and far between moments of normalcy, i tried to think about what it was that got me out of these moments before. i thought about the last time i experienced the same feelings of frustration, defeat, disappointment, and worthlessness before and what i did to pull myself into a better head space.
after some serious reflection - which was not exactly easy going back into the rolodex of negative memories when i was already seeing nothing but negativity - but i came to the realization that it was poetry that helped me through.
i immediately went to barnes and noble and sat down in front of the poetry section and started fishing through book after book before deciding on What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire by Charles Bukowski. Charles is one of my all-time favorite poets due to his blunt, raw, gritty, tough as nails kind of man writings, but in the spaces between the letters of his pieces, you could see he was human. you could tell when he loved, he loved hard. he loved deep. he had a passion for writing that could not be taken away by anything or anyone. he didn’t need money to write. he didn’t need food to write. he didn’t even need love to write. he just needed his mind and his hands…
anyway, i came home with the book (randomly selected because if i had it my way, i would have bought all of his in stock) and jumped right in. almost instantaneously i started to feel lighter. it was if each page i turned another weight was lifted.
it’s amazing what stepping away from your own realm for a second can do for you. it’s so hard to do sometimes especially when you’re so deep in the trenches and committed to your goals. you almost feel like any time away from them is a form of betrayal or disrespect. however when i was curled up with Charles and his words, i never once felt like i was betraying anything. i never once felt like my goals were being abandoned or my dreams were being neglected.
that’s how i knew. that’s how i knew i had found my way back home to myself.
i finished the book in about three days, posting some of my favorite poems on my IG story as i went (catch them in my poetry highlight here), and immediately needed more.
i needed more poetry!
i finally had my creative drive back! i felt the urge to write, read more from classic poets, modern poets, brainstorm new solo projects, and i even got the urge to reach out to a few colleagues for collaborations.
i was back on the ball i had fallen off of months ago!
and all it took was for me to go back to my basics. to go back to what made me fall in love with writing in the first place. to go back to why i even thought i could follow my dreams. it’s so important to form and nourish a strong foundation so that when you have moments like the one i experienced, you have a place to come back to to nourish YOU!
Bukowski didn’t publish his first book until he was 40.
Vera Wang was a figure skater AND a journalist before she designed her first dress at 40.
Stan Lee was 43 when he started drawing his Marvel characters.
Laura Ingalls Wilder published the first Little House book at 65.
Peter Mark Roget published the first thesaurus ever when he was 61.
i just turned 32.
higher powers willing, i have plenty of time to make my dreams come true.
to read What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire, you can find it in my amazon store here.
if you are a Bukowski fan, some of my other favorite books of his and ones i highly recommend reading are The Pleasures of the Damned, Love is a Dog from Hell, On Love, and The Last Night of the Earth Poems.
since i finished Bukowski’s book, i went to barnes and noble (top 5 most dangerous places to bring your money into) and picked up a few more poetry books. i really want get into literature and read poetry from those who came before me and made me fall in love with the art. i bought Love Poems & Sonnets of William Shakespeare, The Complete Poems: Anne Sexton, and The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. the last two are pretty thick books so they’ll keep me busy for awhile. i’m almost embarrassed to say i’ve never read poetry from neither Anne Sexton or Pablo Neruda but that’s why i decided to get their books. i wanted to step completely away from the names i recognize or are familiar with and learn/read the works of those i never have.
i often wonder why i love writing so much. i wonder why i wasn’t created to love or be talented in basketball or gymnastics or cooking or even painting because i can barely color within the lines let alone paint! i know i was drawn to writing letters and stories at an early age but when did it switch it poetry, who was it that made me switch, was it even a person, is it even poetry itself, or just ones ability to express raw human emotion in a captivating manner?
my questions are endless and my mind never stops moving. it is a gift and a curse, this mind of mine.
but what a life it is with this gift of mine.
love & light,