Writing is Hard

I have had an unofficial goal to write a post a week for this year, but I also have wanted to be kind to myself and allow the words that come from my brain to be meaningful. I didn't want to force a hobby onto myself and commit to something. That felt really unreasonable and hard for me. As a perfectionist, it feels like the words need to be right and the ideas need to be meaningful and that anything that doesn't meet expectations is a disappointment. I am working on all of those things.

As we enter another week, I realize that I haven't written anything in a few weeks even though ideas have been bouncing around in my head of what to write about. It's the two year anniversary of my move to Massachusetts, and I have started and erased four versions of a reflection on the topic. There's so much and so little to say about that, and the tone keeps feeling off.

The only thing that I know for certain is Massachusetts is a hard word to spell, and I continue to add an additional double s when only one is needed. Slowly through the errors, I am building the concept of how to spell the word, just like I did with the word privilege and judgement. Two words that I know how to spell simply because I have messed them up too many times and the squiggle lines have taught me to identify the mistake.

Maybe this is a lesson in life.

Whenever I continue with that thought and try to piece out how it's a lesson, I don't like the point I am heading towards, so I am going to change the direction. I give myself permission to decide if something feels right, and since it doesn't, I am going to back away from it and redirect myself.

Maybe that is the point of today's piece. The last two years have been me trying to find myself. (If we are being completely honest, I have been on this journey of finding myself for the past six years.) There's been a lot of loss to my identity over that time. My footing has been uncertain, and I have made a lot of false starts and have had to double back to make forward momentum. My ego has taken many beatings, and I have felt so out of my element.

However, there's been a lot of shedding. In a good way. Like a snake that doesn't fit in its skin anymore. Removing the parasites and damage. Molting to make new.

For me, the fresh layer is still new. Raw and vulnerable. It's been painful to let go of the old, and there are things that are still clinging to me, no matter how much I want to shake them and be free from it.

At the same time, I am free. I am rewriting expectations and developing healthier relationships. I am giving myself permission to explore my personality without fear of judgement.

I know today's piece is shorter than other reflections have been, but this has been a hard idea to conceptualize because in so many ways I feel like I just got here, and I am the same person I was before, but, in so many other ways, I feel like this is where I've always been and always belonged, and I am a completely new person. The old and new both fighting to have their say.

I hope that in a year from now, there's a more definitive reflection and a clearer path of where I am heading. Right now, I am going to take it day by day, following my internal hot and cold game to determine if something is the right decision.

It doesn't have to be more than a statement that I am happy with where I am in this moment, and I am going to focus on that feeling that I am where I am supposed to be. It doesn't have to be more than that. This is enough for now.