I haven't blogged for months now. I only write publicly when the genuine urge arises, and it's been awhile since I've felt the itch. Today the desire to share emerged and, after nearly two hours drafting an article, I inadvertently hit the wrong key on my screen.
Boom. Just like that. It was all lost.
Of course this isn't the first time I've experience this. As a writer, technology fails happen from time to time. But something about today's thwarted attempt at communication immediately angered me. I shouted profanities at my computer and then scrambled for an autosave miracle. A little voice inside tried coaxing me back to center (Just let it go, C), and I pushed back against it. But I had worked hard on that. After one more heavy sigh of irritation, I opened this page: a blank document without an agenda.
Somewhat ironically, the piece I was working on was about a recent realization. To sum it up: At the ripe age of forty, I've come to realize that my work ethic (a do-or-die survival strategy toward action) is no longer serving me and that I'm ready to build a life around who-I-actually-am versus the almighty All That I Can Do.
So yes, please feel free to laugh along with me that "all my hard work" unexpectedly disappeared into the ethers in an instant... forcing me to ask the question at the heart of the message I had spent all morning laboring over: Who will I be if everything that I "do" is stripped from me?
As it turns out:
Still me. Still enough.
Autosave fail = nothing lost.
Blog published = nothing gained.
Happiness isn't something I have to work for and the joy of expression isn't found or expressed through some pre-formulated agenda, the week's ah-hahs, or the social metrics of what other people seem to want of me.
I'm 40. It's time to enjoy my voice without reshaping it at every turn.
So here goes: I offer ten more-honest minutes of two hours (un)wasted.
I'm sending you me. Me instead of IT.
Art is life in real time.
& it's more than enough to satisfy the soul.