Writers’ Blokke
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Writers’ Blokke

Am I Making Progress? I Don’t Know.

Damnit.

Photo by Hello I'm Nik on Unsplash

Hello stranger reader friend,

I have something to tell you.

What is it, you ask?

Oh, it’s all of my angst and insecurity. Exciting, right? What did you say, you have to go? That’s a shame. I’ve come to some brilliant insights that I’m ready to share with the world on Medium. (Sign up for my no-spam, high-quality, exclusive email list-serve, and stay tuned for a free E-Course coming soon!)

Sorry. I’m in a bit of a mood tonight.

Here is the thing:

I Don’t Know.

I don’t know. I don’t know.

I don’t know what I am doing.

I don’t know if …what? If I will ‘succeed?’ Be rich and thin and famous and wear tweed blazers?

I don’t know where that last part came from. I like the word tweed and wanted to use it in a sentence.

I don’t think my version of success involves tweed, or wealth, or fame. I used to be thin and now I have hips and curves. A soft belly, a soft body. A women’s body, is how it feels. Different, is how it feels. A lot of things have been different lately. I’ve been doing a lot of things different, too. I’m taking action, making plans, pushing myself outside of my comfort zone.

I’ve started to job hunt, which is a a recipe for self doubt if there ever was one.

A recipe for self doubt. I’ve been starting to cook and look up recipes. A recipe for self-doubt definitely includes artificial sweetener and some complicated allergen-free substitute (no gluten, no dairy, no eggs, paleo and fodmap-free recipe!) that is secretly unhealthy and much harder to make then the instagram foodies claim.

Tonight I’m feeling a bit cynical and cranky.

Tonight I’m tired of trying to do all of the things.

Tonight I want to stay in my comfort zone.

I Don’t Know. I Don’t Know.

I don’t know what I don’t know.

I don’t know, I don’t know. This is my new mantra.

When I ask myself to complete the sentence, this is what happens:

I don’t know if I am worthy. I don’t know if I’m doing things right. I don’t know if I’m attractive. I don’t know if I’m succeding. I don’t know if I am fucking everything up. I don’t know what will happen next. I don’t know if things will change. I don’t know how things will change. I don’t know which way I want things to change.

I don’t know if I’m a good writer.

I don’t know if I’m good at anything.

Even while writing it, my reaction is: What the fuck? Who is this voice? Of course I’m worthy! There is no ‘right’ way. I’m gorgeous inside and out. I choose my own standards of success. Life is change. I’m not in control of what will be, I can only decide how I want to be now.

I’m an okay writer, and if I keep working at it then I will be a better writer.

And clearly I’m good at saying mean things to myself.

IDon’tKnow, KnowIDon’t, Don’tIKnow?

Am I making progress?

Does this practice and process and daily-writing-thing mean anything?

Yes.

Yes Yes Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Keep going.

Yael, keep going.

You too, my dear stranger reader friend. If you are still with me, I thank you.

I don’t know if I made sense. I don’t know if I make sense, still.

I know that I showed up. I know that I followed through.

And I know that I wrote for 25 minutes.

Cheers ~

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Yael Shira

Yael Shira

Channeling the chaos of #chronicillness toward creative living. I write (daily?), in 25-minutes spurts. Here to celebrate the process, and the practice.

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