I’ve let too much time pass since writing to you. Every day, I think about writing you. I think about posting and then get busy, or distracted, or just lack the energy. I tell myself it doesn’t matter anyway. What good is yet another blog post in this overcrowded Twitter world of ours. But then, I come back to this: We’re all searching for that word, that phrase, that nugget of something to confirm that, yes, we are connected. Woven together somehow into this cloth of colorful human beings. And when we connect — to someone who has been where we have been — we’re able to see and find our way, and keep going. Even if our keep going process means more searching. Isn’t that what we’re here for? To search, learn, share, and connect?
I’ll tell you, some days I’m bursting with things to share. Then I sit down to write you and my words scatter, back down into the murk, when I attempt to type them. As if my computer screen were a great white and its teeth were my keys! Swim for your life! I can almost hear the slippery words screaming as they disappear.
I encourage myself, thinking next time I’ll be quieter as I approach. And I’ll catch at least two or three morsels to share. But then a month, four months, a year passes and so many unfinished drafts are caught in my net that I think, just throw them back and start over. Return to the beginning again. But where to start?
First, I’ll mark my calendar: two posts a month. (That seems doable. I’m halfway there.)
Second, I’ll start small, with a moment, a memory, a thought or idea that I think will be of value to you. (I think I’ve said just enough here in 470 words.)
Third, I’ll remind myself that . . .
- I created Willower.org to connect with others who have experienced what I have.
- sharing stories can be therapeutic, good for our minds, bodies, and souls — for the writer and for the reader.
- it only takes a word, a letter, a few sentences, or a simple act of kindness to make an impact.
My Soul keeps swimming through the dark waters of my mind, with her snorkel and mask, skimming the sediment, searching for stories, remnants, pieces of lost treasure. She keeps going — so I’ll keep going. She’s patient with me — so I’ll try to be patient with myself. She waits for me, knowing that sooner or later, I will return.
And so, I have returned. I am back. Ready to write, rewrite, search, learn, share, and connect.
“You did it!” My Soul is smiling now. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, before taking a deep breath, diving out of sight again, searching for our next piece.