reclaiming mojo

The other day I was on at least page four of my journal in my writing escapades for the day–with less time spent on Instagram I have had more time to write and read (the things that actually bring me life), more on that later. I stopped mid jaunt when I wrote something that surprised me and took me completely back.

“I really don’t like me.”

The words on the page seeming as if they had come from someone else. (It’s possible that my inner diva comes out when I journal. Or maybe I just give her room to live there, in that space, I like her–dramatics and all. Homegirl doesn’t mess around.)

I stopped what I was doing and sat there, tears springing to my eyes. 

“Well that’s really gross. Where did that come from?” I wondered, immediately criticizing myself for being so gut-wrenchingly honest and wanting to be able to take it back. But I couldn’t. It was already out there, on the page in black and white; displayed for my two eyeballs to take in over and over again.

I decided to not linger there too long mentally and continue writing, my hand seeming to have more to say and clarify than my brain was able to consciously wrap itself around in the moment. 

It took me another three pages to release all of the pressure that has (apparently) been building within me for the last couple of months.

The bottom line…I apparently do not enjoy the current season and how I am handling myself within it.

In the midst of showing myself grace for the grieving process, I think I may have gotten stuck and fallen into a little bit of bitterness, self-pity, and impatience. Ever happened to you?

Have you ever woken up one day and realized that the path you thought you were on, to one, specific, beautiful, healing destination actually landed you in an entirely different place than intended? One not so healing, peaceful, or beautiful.

Somewhere in the midst of my grieving, waiting, and hoping I got a little lost. I am not talking about drastic, dire, in-the-pit-of-depression lost. No; been there, done that, no {plans} to go back.

I am simply talking about losing your intentionally, forgetting your mojo, and misplacing your inspiration. 

I think I did that…and, worse than that, I began shaming myself for it!

Life is short. When you are raising kids, the days seem intensely long.

…and then one day you blink and the years are gone. This may be true for everyone. One day you are beginning a “filler” job right out of college and 15 years later you are more miserable than ever and stuck at the same job simply because it has good dental and vision benefits. 

What happened to living? Being excited to wake up in the morning? Breathing, moving, and speaking with purpose?

I began working on my book and then all of a sudden writing became a “job” that was hard and no longer “fun.” 

Is being easy or fun a prerequisite to being “good” or worthwhile?

Simple answer: Hell, no.

Cue life-changing, Rocky anthem.

This weekend I dedicated time to reclaiming my mojo, rediscovering my inspiration, and dragging back out my intentionality. [Do not worry. It was buried underneath a stack of papers labeled “Shoulds, Should nots. And lies used to keep you from chasing your dreams.” I burned those.]

Paying bills is good–essential, even, to being a responsible adult. Taking care of the things you are responsible for make you trustworthy and honorable.

Being alive and living well is awesome–and necessary to being a thriving human being. 

Risk is okay. So GO. Stop spinning your wheels. 

Think about the things your present self would have wanted your past self to know, to do, and remember five or ten years ago…take note of where you are with those things currently…and then do them. 

Life is now. 

Live.