Forest for the Trees

“don’t follow your passion, follow your curiosity.”
~ elizabeth gilbert

Maybe that’s what it is. So many look and look while refusing to see. That’s what stifles me, what frustrates me, what causes the cursing and sends me straight to the garden to sit on the earth until I am quiet again. Do I return, do I quit, do I carve my niche out in this place that has led me to apathy, do I simply write until the cows come home?

One told us about her inkstained heart. I looked at the empty page and knew I wasn’t giving enough. Another said that perfectionism was the high end version of fear and that I am entitled to create and I must make space for fear and plow ahead. Invite it on the road trip but never let it drive. It’s there for a reason. Fearlessness is for sociopaths and wild three year olds.

I told you that I didn’t know, I asked you to tell me what you saw. You told me there was a reason to stay if only for the words, to be out more among people and to be making that difference. Whenever I ask for perspective I always get to know more about that person – not just their thoughts on me but what they think as logical, important in their own worlds. What’s scalable, you said.

What if scalable is not a priority. What if I just want to pay the bills and walk on forest trails and raise a family? What if I just want to write books and close my eyes when I sit on the grass and love and eat and sleep and dream?

Inbetweenland is where I sit and wonder and inbetweenland is where I know and don’t know all at the same time. The woman, she writes. But is she a writer?

I have had a callous on the inside of my right middle finger from serious pen and pencil work, gained at a young age and kept my whole life. Write is not an option it is the breath that comes out of me. When you walk you see words drift by and when you feel the wind or see the sun there are things that must be said, even if not allowed.

Those around me in the profession, they often miss the forest for the trees. Do I want to keep trying to point out how the cedar and pine and maple and oak are all of one? Do I want to keep trying to shake them alive, do I want them to change or do I simply want to walk away? I’m tired, and I’m awake. I’m inbetweenish and yet all at the same time I know exactly what it is.

The words. They hold me. I owe them more.

I promise more now. Now.

 

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