Let the Healing Continue

On October 12, 2021, a little before noon, I was involved in the first of three automobile accidents that would befall me over the course of the next five months. As car accidents go, they were not terribly serious; no one got hurt on either side of the impacts, and I was the victim rather than the offender in every circumstance. The insurance companies from the parties at fault paid for all damages to my vehicle in every case, but while that was a benefit and everything worked out alright in the end, I could not help but believe there was something deeper going on with all this vehicular trauma I was enduring. I've long subscribed to the belief that the main reason we're here, on this plane of existence, is to experience things, sort things, learn things. Part of this belief also asserts that if one is not learning the lesson one has chosen to learn, one keeps getting presented with said lesson. And the stakes get higher around it, until one is forced to pay attention.

That is what it felt like immediately after October 12, 2021. I needed to pay attention to something, I needed to focus on a lesson I'm here to learn, delve into the choices that had put me in that position. I did that the only way I knew how at the time: I began to write. More precisely, I began to journal once again. I started that practice on October 27, 2021, approximately 810 days ago, as of the morning of this writing. In that time, I've written 1,564,673 words on 2,356 pages. I follow The Artist's Way author Julia Cameron's guidance on how to write morning pages: three pages of stream of consciousness, whatever comes to mind, whatever needs to find the page. The biggest difference is she suggests writing in longhand. I have chosen to write directly into a computer file on my laptop, backed up every morning to a separate flash drive, just to be safe in the event of any technical untidiness.

This process, which I consider a non-negotiable, sacred morning routine, is now combined with a meditation practice I began five days after I started journaling. Together, they take approximately 90 minutes, sometimes longer. Whatever I have scheduled for the morning comes after my meditation and journaling. When my meditation and journaling are done, I have won the morning. By winning the morning, I'm on the way to winning the day.

I truly believe this two-pronged practice, along with the emotional support and love of my two children and my three sisters, has changed my life for the better. In fact, I believe it has saved my life.

Now, I told you that story, so I could tell you this one.

I used to believe that I wasn't any good at resolutions, and frankly not much better at goal setting. I know the mechanics of it all; that's simple enough. I'm good at the prep work and the visualization and the wording. Those things are right up my alley. It's the doing that hangs me up. I know I'm not alone when I admit that. The doing is what hangs us all up, right?

If there's one thing I've learned in my 810 days of journaling so far, it's that I'd been living most of my life on autopilot, living patterns that were formulated way back in my childhood, mostly based on fear-based experiences that were out of my control. Survival methods, in essence. And those patterns led me to draw conclusions about myself that were wrong. So I recognized, as I unraveled these knots in my journal and in art published on Vocal, that I have a passel of forgiveness and self-forgiveness to extend, and I'll probably be working through all that for the rest of my life. Realizing that has been incredibly freeing.

So while I'm still not crazy about resolutions (they just sound so legalistic and formal), I'm definitely down with intentions. Intentions, I can handle. Fulfilling intentions can be fun. And to me, creativity is an expression of joy, even if the stuff we're creating is birthed by trauma or loss or pain. So I've set my intentions for work on Vocal in 2024:

Give, expecting nothing thereof. Create for creativity's sake, without worrying about how many people read it or like it or how many subscribers I attract. The work is its own reward.

Remember that my creativity heals myself and others. This is right out of The Artist's Way, and is a central tenet of my life. My creativity is central to my healing, for as I tell my stories, I exorcise mistaken ideas about myself and understand I am enough just as I am. We are all enough just as we are.

Support fellow creatives on the platform. Read the work of others, comment, support, create fellowship with them. Subscribe to those whose work moves me, extend joy and grace and compliments. There is enough creative abundance for us all.

Take small steps to create big habits. James Clear's book Atomic Habits suggests breaking tasks down to their smallest components. For me, that starts with the most basic of tasks: setting an alarm on my phone to alert me to go to my laptop, turn it on, and open a blank page in Vocal. Then I'll set a timer for 15 minutes, and just listen to what the Universe is telling me to write down. When the timer sounds, I can stop or I can continue if I find myself in a flow state.

Publish at least 24 pieces on Vocal in 2024. I'm tossing this intention out to the Universe, and asking for guidance and support and encouragement from any and all to help me manifest this into reality.

I know I can establish a consistent writing practice, because I'm already doing it first thing in the morning. I just need to remember three more short mantras from The Artist's Way:

I am a good person and a good artist.

I am willing to create.

I am willing to let God create through me.

Peace and strength to all of you, my friends. May your creativity be fruitful and joyful.