Month: October 2014

And so a new week begins. A chance to start over, or continuing doing the same. There is so much to do, or if I am being totally honest, just choices. I can choose to do them all or none. It’s a daily struggle as so much to be seen as tasks. It’s tempting to see so many things as have-to’s when in reality there are just I want-to-do’s.  The Sea Change Programs reminds me to be mindful.  Be present. Be here.  Not lost in thought or planning ahead or looking behind. Month 2 of Facebook fasting has begun, but there have been some slips here and there. Because I have not deactivated my account, I still receive notifications, and the urge to check is immense. But as Leo Bautista taught, I stay with the urge, I let it build up and then I let it go. It feels facetious to tell people that I am not on Facebook because it’s something I am doing for myself. Just like I signed up for Nanowrimo, but the part in me that needs acknowledgement is always hungry. Always needs to be fed. If it’s not shared, then it doesn’t exist.

I am still surprised that I influence others because most of the time what I am doing seems so solitary, so alone as if I am just here with  my thoughts. Writing and working out and really anything that involves just you is an individual task, but that doesn’t mean it has to be done alone. I see the contradiction as I write it, but then it hits me. There is no reason to go at it alone. It may seem like that you are doing it all by yourself, but others are there. You just have to be mindful enough to know that. Be present. Be here. One thing at a time. One choice at a time.

So begins another week. Another Monday. I struggled waking up this morning.  No alarm, but the phone showed 7:27 am when I looked at it.  I closed my eyes for a few delicious seconds, and almost drifted off, but then the  thought broke through that the mornings were the only time I had to write. If I want to write a novel in 30 days for Nanowrimo, I better get used to a routine of sorts. So I sit in the library, the windows open, the daylight pouring over the laptop, the smell of the hot coffee swimming near my senses, awakening me. I feel like a writer. I have all the tools. Except for one small one. The words. Those pesky letter that i can litter on a blank piece of paper so I can actually stop feeling like a fraud. That can make this more than a dream. A writer.

So I sit there, noticing everything yet avoiding looking at the blank screen of me. The cursor blinks patiently. It disappears and then appears. Waiting. I yawn, scratch myself, take a sip of the coffee, and promptly go on Twitter or play Words with Friends. Minutes pas. The timer counts down. Suddenly, a thought. I lean over the laptop, pausing uncertainly but then the first words appears. The clicks of the keyboard motivate to keep going. They may not be Rembrandt or Hemingway, but it’s a start. I am awake. The dream is in front of me.