Dearest Reader,
I feel pulled to share a few important things today. I feel pulled to make them flowing and cohesive and lyrical. And, I’m not there. Not flowing. Not cohesive. Not lyrical. What I can do is this:
Start where it’s simple.
Sometimes—oftentimes—that is enough. Sometimes—oftentimes—that’s what we need. So, a few things.
Thing One
I’ve stayed the course with my new parameters for screen time, overwork, and social media sobriety. Get the backstory and “rules” here and here, in the paid section.
The similarity between this new layer of sobriety and giving up alcohol is astounding. I say this even as a person who works with folks with all kinds of addictions. I say this even as a person who already “knew” it’d be the case. Intellectually knowing a thing and observing it in others is worlds apart from being in it. From actually living and feeling it.
The long and short of it is that giving up social media and random web time was uncomfortable at first but not terrible. Giving up work after dinner and on Sundays? Killer.
The part of me who knows this pause in my regular programming will incite impatience and anger in others…the part of me who will never be convinced that pleasing everyone isn’t essential to my self-worth and very survival…the part of me who never opens one particular inbox without dread tied to the immediate but rooted in my earliest beginnings…the part of me who feels defeated after working overtime for over two years in some unnoticed, falsely heroic effort to hold things together…the part of me who will give, give, give except now there’s nothing left.
That part of me. That part of me is spent.
Have you read Earthsea: The First Four Books, by Ursula K. Le Guin? It’s like Ged in Book Four, after he’s lost his power. I mean, I didn’t save the world or anything. But I’ve lost something precious and close to the core. These past few years and one job in particular took it from me.
Thing Two
I listened to Irish poet Mícheál ‘Moley’ Ó Súilleabháin recite a poem this week as part of David Whyte’s live November series. The poem is called “Turas d’Anam,” which means “journey of your soul” in the Irish language.
It speaks of humiliation in the sense of getting down to the blood and bones of it. It speaks of grounding there and giving ourselves over. Of giving ourselves a break so our soul can catch up. The poem goes this way:
Often times
the step backward
lets the soul catch up.
So that all our happy
hindsights harmonise
and wisdom builds.Share your luck.
Be miserly only
with misfortune.
In each seismic
shudder we learn
to trust the ground
again, humble again,
knowingly broken,
unrepentantly wounded,
proud to bare pain.Laying claim to
the joy factory
of your body.No more tariffs, or sanctions.
Wage cuts and glass ceilings.
Conventions, expenses paid, nor
lanyards or company position.Often times,
this way you can live
in ways others simply
will not, develop sides
of you others simply
would not.So feel the rhythm
beyond the beat.
Begin with a break,
and let your soul
catch up.
Thing Three
I spent the first week of this new layer of sobriety sitting in it. I spent the second week taking a few next right steps. I can’t share those yet, but will.
Meanwhile, I have a question for you (a genuine question I’m asking and would love for you to answer). It’s messy still, but goes something like this:
What question do you ask yourself and hold to when gathering the courage to go when you need to go?
If you’re a paid subscriber, you get to comment down below. I’d love for you to do so. (Please don’t email me your answer/question.)
If you’re a paid subscriber, I’ll also place an audio recording after the jump. It’s a small thing, but full of gratitude from me to you. From my place of getting down to the blood and bones of it. From my place of letting my soul catch up.
Love, integrity & alchemy,
Dana
For you, from me, a listen…