Every Friday, there will be a prompt to lead us to the weekend. I would love to see your responses or thoughts about process in the comments. Or, even better? Leave us a link to your own blog and response there!
I challenge you to sit, breathing just like you do, and just see the world around you. Just a few minutes, a few breaths. Then, set a timer or page limit (for however long you want), and WRITE! Just put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard). Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just ground yourself in the prompt. Come back to it if you need to. But, for all that is good in this world, tell us your story.
This week’s prompt came about because I am really excited about my long-weekend vacation to Vermont this weekend. So, I started thinking about where I’m going and what I’m doing. (Note: My response was written Thursday, before the first Guinea Pig Session class in the evening.)
I set the timer for 15 minutes.
Where are you going? / Where have you been?
I’m going on vacation in less than 24 hours. It feels like very distracting thoughts, but that’s okay. Working with it.
Where am I going? In what sense? Metaphysical? Physically? Psychologically?
I am thinking way too much. I’ve slowed down because of using my fountain pen for the first time in MONTHS. It’s a weird feeling. To slow down, not rush through this – not really any rushing, as 15 minutes is 15 minutes.
Where have I been? I’ve been to 49 of 50 states. I’ve been through depression, my passport stamped and everything. I’ve been to joyful tops where the air feels cool and crisp, except I can’t stay there long. Instead, there are the bluffs, which are less peak-y and more stable. The bluffs are my contentment – this deep gratitude I’m learning to call up when I need it … and when I remember to.
I’ve been to the first places of lots of moments – that first kiss, the first days of school, stretching nearly 20 years. Tonight, I’m going to my first class as a practice facilitator – as a storyteller and a practicer. Practitioner feels like a clunky word to describe what I do. I’ve been going through thoughts about practice and discipline and commitment and where I fall. I’m never sure what to call myself. (Post-writing note: The blog post, Sneaking up on practice, started those thoughts, along with paperkingdoms’ great comment. There is a forthcoming blog post in the next week or so.)
Right now, storyteller fits. Storyteller.
So, where is this storyteller going? She’s going to green mountains, going to rest. She’s going to rest. She’s going to relax and rejuvenate. She’s going to (hopefully) write and yoga and (definitely) visit with amazing people and (most probably) laugh. She’s also hoping there is ice cream.
This storyteller is dipping her toes back into a novel, keeps planning planning planning and needs to simply start DOING.
In planning a trip, there’s so much excitement, joy, anticipation. Then the trip comes and it’s never what we imagine. So, we wonder what went wrong. Where am I going with this? That no matter how much we plan, there’s a sense that there could be so much more I’ve never ever dreamed about, so much I couldn’t even fathom. And this isn’t about good/bad. How do we find land beyond that? Those are fiercely traveled lines and I feel pulled between them, feel like there’s no between ground. It’s the no (wo)man’s land of shell fire and people trying to get you to their side.
I envision a scene from The Matrix, with bullets all around Neo’s body. He sees it for what it is and they are simply there. For a moment, there’s no fight, struggle – for a moment, all is still and he steps into the moment and lets it exist.