Virginia Woolf rightly said, “You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”
Life.
It’s the only thing you ever know.
And it’s anything but certain.
Although, and quite often, we trick ourselves into believing – a certainty over our lives.
We call this routine.
The [inherent] repetitive regularity of it offers an illusion of control.
It makes us feel safe, knowing we can be sure.
But sure of what?
I was sure it was him, the one.
I was sure New York was it, forever.
[Leaving it too, I was sure].
Now here I am.
Reflecting on every single aspect of life as I know it.
Unsure.
Yet searching.
And I realize.
It has been in the most uncertain of times, that I have discovered life.
And lived [this life] the most.
Exploring the corners of my inner mind [and life].
Even the ones I was too scared to face.
Outside of comfort, and familiarity.
I found growth.
I found home – in being unsure.
I found the joy in possibility – one that “sure” could never [let me] imagine.
And it opened up all the doors certainty had closed [for me].
But as I dance in the chaos of uncertainty, there is one thing I am sure of – [my] writing.
There is no certainty in my writing.
Not in style.
Nor topic or time.
Only endless possibilities.
My writing keeps me open – to the endless possibilities of [my] life.
I have something to say.
And so I write.
And as my thoughts evolve.
So does my writing.
To be honest, I could be more like my writing.
Open.
Free.
Unfiltered.
And full of possibility.
It is in this possibility I find peace.
In a life – filled with questions and contradictions.
Where my voice isn’t the only one.
And new perspectives pave my way.
[Or help me get out of my own way].
Just by letting go of the need – to be sure.
I see things I would never dream of.
And my dreams shape a reality I could never picture.
Now ahead lies a spectrum.
No black or white.
Just many shades – of life.
Each one brings a promise.
Of an open mind, an open heart.
Of opportunity.
Just imagine.
The possibilities.
So next time you are sure.
[Or feel the need to be].
Pause and ask yourself.
Would you rather be sure.
Or full of possibility?
Dedicated to Joan Didion; who continues to make me a better writer through the radical transparency in her words.
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