What is my edge? Where am I afraid to go? What is it that I'm afraid to write about?
Joy. Pleasure. Happiness. Fun.
It's not that I don't know about those things. I do (kinda). I know pleasure. I can have big fun. I'm not all extra joyful or brimming with happiness, but those things are familiar.
So why can't I write about them...consistently?
I think one reason is that I don't want to contribute to the countless "positive" pieces of writing in the form of affirmations and sickening platitudes. I hate faux positivity and empowerment.
But as one of my mentors said, "We need encouragement like we need food".
We need to know that we're worthy. We often need the reminder that we are enough as-is...no fixing required. We need to hear that we belong here.
Encouragement is the word I'd been looking for. The word "affirmation" always felt too new age-y, too fluffy...like it's rooted in air.
Affirmations were things that you had to tell yourself, even if you don't believe them.
I want encouragement I can believe.
But writing my own encouraging words feels impossible. It's the thing I don't do well. I draw a blank when I start to write. I can write about pain, and suffering, and all the things that are wrong with humans and the world.
It's the joy and happiness and pleasure that don't flow as easily from these fingertips.
As I write that, however, I realize that I can recognize and appreciate the good in the world. Just yesterday morning, I was in awe of the sunrise as it lit up the sky like an inferno. It was gorgeous. I didn't feel the need to take a picture of it because I want to keep in my memory for however long is stays there.
I CAN appreciate the beauty that surrounds us, even in the midst of so much ugliness.
What do I need to hear as encouragement? I think that's a good place for me to start.
I want to know that my life and my presence here matter.
I want to know that my words and my work have meaning.
I want to know that, despite, all the ways I've been told that I'm not worthy by the world, that I am truly magic.