What the Hell am I Supposed to be Doing?" and allowed those willing a little peek inside my slightly jumbled mind. I re-read a portion of that post today and must admit I was a little shocked at how much I understood about what was going on with me despite my insanity. I confessed in the post that by not writing my morning pages, I was simply having a temper tantrum. I also noticed that after I made the admission, I dropped the subject and moved onto something else.
Writing my morning pages is an activity that I started when I went through the The Artist's Way program developed by Julia Cameron. I may discuss the specifics of the program another time, but the main assignment is to write three pages in the morning before you do anything else.
Writing my morning pages quickly became a sacred act for me. It is my form of prayer and meditation; a way for me to connect with God and to sort out the complexities of my issues. It wasn't sacred because of religiosity or some insatiable need to be deep. My morning ritual became sacred because I released my obsession to be censor, editor and critic as I wrote. Contained in the pages of that red pleather journal were the truths of my life. And I believe even in the everyday, the unimaginative and mundane, truth is aways sacred.
I have no illusions about why I stopped writing so completely or so quickly. The more truthful I became about myself, the more I realized that my life was radically changing. Suddenly the topic of my prayers -the realization that the vision that I have always had for my life was within reach. No longer just possible, but inevitable. I was actually going to have a happy fulfilled life. The concept, when fully absorbed was terrifying. Experiencing sustained satisfaction was uncharted territory for me. I thought that somewhere along the way, there were going to be dues that I had to pay, that the rug is going to be pulled out from under me. Instead of waiting for the big cosmic joke, I sabotaged myself. That way the fates, the devil, or life in general wouldn't have to intervene to keep me in my place.
I stopped writing my pages and immediately slipped into an angry funk and felt overwhelmed with all I had to do. Actually, I slipped into an angry funk because I was overwhelmed with all I wasn't doing. I lost my confidence and fell into the old habit of second-guessing and doubting myself at every turn. I still refused to write. Except for the occasional blog, I was hardly writing anything at this point. Under the surface, I knew that feeling unfulfilled, anxious and dissatisfied was more comfortable for me, even though it made me miserable and crazy. I didn't admit this fact until I wrote "Is My Life Enough?", and openly questioned my ability to be happy if I failed at all I wanted and desired. After I wrote that - I knew I had to start my routine again finally made the decision to do it.
The second I put pen to paper, I re-gained my clarity. All the doubt and confusion seemed to evaporate the more I wrote. The things that had been troubling me didn't seem so troubling. I was no longer the victim of a self-imposed creative drought. I still don't write everyday, and not always the recommended three pages, nut I am doing it, gaining momentum and feeling good about myself again - correction, feeling myself again. The old adage is true - absence does make the heart grow founder. My happy self isn't doomed after all...
Keep going and lighten up.