Unmoored

It's the beginning of the year

and I feel unmoored, unsure 

what direction to swim in.

Do you feel unmoored, too?

Here we are waiting for the wind 

to offer us a clue, treading water,

floating in place, befuddled by the way

uncertainty replaces certainty.

At the moment it's impossible 

to choose which way to go.

All paths have been erased,

all destinations hidden,

so how can we find the route 

we're meant to follow?

How long can we keep treading 

water before sinking to the bottom?

What is keeping us afloat?

Maybe it's all just a matter of allowing 

ourselves a chance to rest, 

to step out of the water,

to regain our strength. 

Maybe this is how to let the well fill up again?

Listen, it's the beginning of the year, 

and there's hope that a path will appear 

tomorrow or maybe the next day, 

and that we'll know what we didn't know 

a moment ago: the path we're meant to follow,

the way we're meant to go.

You must embark

Each morning you put pen to paper hoping words will appear. 

You never know what you'll write and so you write to find out what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

First, you have to summon the courage to face the blank page. 

Only then can you begin the journey you need to make to an unknown place.

Yes I know, you're unsure of your destination, the same way a bird might lose its way in a storm, and you might seek familiar landmarks that tell you which way to go, and where home is, and how to get there.

Only there are no landmarks. 

There are no signs pointing the way. 

You know only one thing: you must embark. 

You must step into the water. 

You must start swimming.

Even though you have no clue where you're going.

Or how you'll get there.

Little by little

Little by little

you step into

the waves of

your imagination

the way you wade

into the sea,

hesitant at first,

uncertain what

you'll find,

wanting to go deeper,

not sure you have

the courage to take

the next step

or, once in

(up to your waist),

if you have the courage

to lift your feet off

the sandy floor

and float,

letting the current

take you where

you've never been

before

Finding Your Way Home

"Just as a painter needs light in order to put the finishing touches to his picture, so I need an inner light, which I feel I never have enough of in the autumn." -- Leo Tolstoy

"Light will someday split you open." -- Hafez

As you write into the unknown, swimming alone for weeks and weeks (and often for years and years), it's not always easy to find your way home.

You may look up from the page one day and find yourself far from shore, disoriented, unable to see the shoreline, unsure of what direction to swim in.

If only the sweeping beam of light from a lighthouse could guide you back to land.

But, alas, there is no lighthouse.

You are swimming in water that is deep and dark, and your arms are tired after swimming for so long, and you can barely kick, and you are close to sinking in a story that no longer makes sense.

It can feel like you’re drowning and that you will never reach solid ground again.

It’s just you… and the deep, dark water… and the empty sky…and your story, and words swirling in your head, and a faint whisper of a voice pleading with you: please, please, keep writing!

But how can you keep writing?

How can you find the strength within to keep going?

At some point you might stop to tread water and gain a little extra energy from the pause in your stroke.

Or you might float on your back for a while to rest and catch your breath.

Taking a break is always a possibility, an essential one at times for the future survival of your project (and for yourself as a writer).

But here’s the thing. After you rest and start swimming again, you may still not be sure what direction to swim in. (And remember there are sharks. There are always sharks.)

In the darkness, you keep wishing for a light to guide you.

If only there was a light.

And the thing is … there is always a light.

It’s the light that burns inside you like an eternal flame, a flame that will light your way and strengthen you once you become aware of its presence.

Most importantly, its light will help you remember what led you so far from shore in the first place.

It's this flame’s brightness that has the power to inspire you … and to reveal the way back to shore.

Remember: your inner light will always show you the way home.