Essentially

 

 

lalaland

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing isn’t this fairytale, La-La Land, hobby it’s made out to be, sometime. Not if it’s what you do to survive and stay in-tune with your inner voice. There are levels to this! There are those times, no matter how good of a writer you are, that you’ll doubt yourself. Replace doubt with determination.

I’m just letting you in my head for a minute. Cool?

I say none of this to you without saying it to myself, first.

You’ll probably think I’m bat-shit-crazy for sharing that I’m paranoid you’ll think I’m bat-shit-crazy.

Which makes me not-so-crazy after all, essentially.

I just want to get on with the writing, but I’m in my head, and look, you are too!

See?

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Trying Myself, For Once

I’m not in the business of giving advice, but a considerable number of folks have approached me, in what I think to be a weak point in my life, to gain insight about their lives and thought processes. I don’t take it lightly and quite frankly, I’m still trekking the gradient of my own uphill adventure called Life. One thing I’ve started doing that I haven’t done in my adult life up to now is ask, “Why?”. Why am I a source of enlightenment? What do others see in me that I refuse to accept about myself? What have my experiences taught me about my strengths and weaknesses that I haven’t weighed or balanced out? Maybe perfectionism isn’t so distinct.

I never considered myself a perfectionist. I always thought that perfectionists were people who didn’t fail and had their affairs in order, never falling prey to circumstance. So, I’d dropped and withdrawn a few classes, stayed in Community College for four years, still not-quite-decided if I want to teach English in Indonesia, write for HuffingtonPost or shoot vignettes about Black artists, all of which I’d jump at in a heartbeat, lost  hundreds of thousands in real estate, haven’t finished college, disappointed a friend, my house doesn’t stay tidy for more than four days, there’s always laundry to do, there’s always a past due bill, there’s always that long, awaiting oil change, there’s always diapers to toss, there’s always posts to write, pictures to take, hair to twist, car lanes to switch out of, there’s always that exit all the way to the left when you’re in the right -in less than 300 feet, dropped collect calls, forgotten pads, toothpaste, body wash, Heaven-forbid, bar soap… That deodorant on your favorite black shirt, that cracked ceramic mug your mom gave you that you can’t replace because you can’t ask her where she bought it, because, well because…

There’s always tears, even when not shed.

There’s always an ear, even when you’re silent.

There’s always a shoulder, even when your back is bent.

That sweet, sour word echoing in your thoughts

Laughter, Life’s tonic for resilience

Shock is a theory, always will be

Thank those that share their thoughts

They’re expanding your life

With you having done nothing but listen.

Trying Myself

Looking through the eyes of a soul in need of healing

Not the Judge

Not the Person

Kamila

Looking at Kamila

For Help

For Once