Surf's Up

Oh, fuck it. I'm gonna have a party.

Fun fact: the only constant thing in life is change.

I recently picked up a banged up copy of Tropic of Capricorn in a Little Free Library as I was ouija-walking somewhere in Chicago a few weeks ago. There was a passage in there where Henry Miller resolves to stop editing his writing in an attempt to capture his authenticity as an author. I think he may be on to something. As a stagnant, would-be writer deep in the trenches of motherhood, my thoughts are more or less trapped in my own head. I’m too busy to compose myself in this season; I’m lucky if I remember to brush my teeth before noon most days, so formulating polished essays with any regularity is clearly beyond my capability at this moment. Still, I feel a longing to create. I want to believe my words have worth; I used to think they did. I want to believe they still do. I have to tell my story somehow, if only for my later self to look back on and sigh and say “ah, bless her heart”.

I don’t have time for therapy; writing will have to be my therapy. I need to explore some uncomfortable truths about myself. Maybe my struggle will resonate and this exercise in being candid will serve somebody. Or maybe not. But whatever it is I’m doing here, I’ll have to take it to go. I can’t slow down; I am in the wave. The only way out is through.

So I’ll run with the chaos, like I typically do. I will attempt to surrender my lifelong battle with perfectionism, and instead accept that my words are good enough for who they’re for. Apologies, future self, for the navel gazing and the typos. Try to remember that this is for your growth and healing, and though you will be judged, who gives a flying fuck? Certainly not you.

Let’s break it down, girl.

xo

Chris