It takes me a while to reckon out my own crapola.  As much as I preach about the importance of depth – depth of feeling, humanity, connectedness – I realized I’ve been avoiding the truth.  Until yesterday when a glimmering a-ha arrived, bringing in a big filet o’ fish of clarity.  It was the best catch ever for this wayward and impatient human.

I love the discoveries during my ‘head escapes’, which is how I refer to my wee bit of meditation time.  (Under duress, I’ll refer to the purposeful interludes as ‘meditative moments’ but can I confess something? I hate those two words.  They convey, at least to me, an outcome I’ve yet to experience – a sought after and revolutionary thunderbolt where I transcend and pick up threads of universal knowledge.)  

I know this sounds like I’m lacking grace and gratitude – with a side order of attitude – but my malaise is borne out of my love/hate relationship with…sigh…let’s call it my ‘reflective practice’ because it’s perpetually about me.  Can I pick another category, please? 😉 No need to answer.  I get it.  It’s supposed to be about me, from the inside out.

Revelations are messy and some days, I’d like to go a-pondering in someone else’s backyard.  Whether I’m too much of a novice or just an avoider, my ego really doesn’t want or need so much “Vicki, Vicki, Vicki”. (I want to insert another winky face here, but I don’t want to overdo it with the emojis…but if you will, just imagine one here, okay? Thank you!)

Whether we call it meditation, reflection, or heart work, we don’t get to drive to the destination.  That’s the point.  I can begin with intention, sure, but I can’t navigate and steer whilst opening myself up to insight.  (Yes.  I see the command-and-control issues.  You’re not the first to make the observation but thank you for joining the chorus.) 

Despite my occasional misgivings, I meditate anyhow…and received a reward, of sorts, yesterday.  Cosmic encouragement to keep on, keeping on – in the form of a ‘big fish’ of insight.

My intention yesterday?  I had creative compulsion on my mind again.  This time, more specifically my need to write –especially on days when I should be in client-mode, following up on business and/or editing other projects.  Am I being an avoider of ‘other things’ or does the daily ritual of writing belong in the cadence of every day?

I don’t want to feel the heaviness of procrastination stress; there’s a special sort of joy that comes from translating thoughts and feelings into text, even if the text in question is LOUSY.  Do it anyhow, but I wondered…am I just justifying and rationalizing (which I’m quite good at)?

Just when this doubting Vicki needed a boost, clarity came!  In the form of a long-forgotten T.S. Eliot quote, flying in during yesterday’s ‘meditative moments’:

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”

Don’t worry.  I’m not lauding myself for creating LIT- TRA-TURE.  Far from it, I’m just plunking down my insides – experiences, impressions, feelings, rants – into reading fodder.  I’m not creating anything especially worthy, but it is my blood, as Eliot says – my life, coming together in storytelling and sharing.  The writing IS me. 

As much as I adore artists of all sorts, my reflective time also highlighted a hiccup. I’m dealing with hurdles related to worthiness and envy. Without awareness, I believe I’ve been jealous of the painters and potters and knitters and architects who create beautiful, dimensional art.  For years. The same is true for musicians – those who provide listeners with evocative opportunities for soul work. Holding others in high regard for their ‘art’ scrambled my motivational longings, setting me up for a soulful showdown about creations and legacies during my ‘quiet time’…my pondering place. And then this…

I remembered…long ago, our dear daughter (DD) asked me to write about my mom, her “Nanny” and family history that’s been equal parts humorous and horrifying.  Hearing snippets in small doses, DD was intrigued and perhaps that’s all the motivation I needed.  Tell the stories. Share the feelings.

I’m not a morbid person, but if I can leave a trail, for DD and any who follow, the chain will be less broken – those fascinating nuts and berries from the family tree? They need to be seen, and as much as possible, understood. Blood into ink.

The truth, then.  Why do I write?  Because I love my family, my friends and you, dear reader, and I’m a word person.  Not an artist, not a musician.  And that’s okay.  I write because I want to instill hope and leave a legacy of love. That’s the truth I tripped over yesterday. My ‘big fish’.

Big hugs,

-Vicki ❤

14 thoughts on “The Truth I Tripped Over

  1. Your reasons for writing ring true with me. I write because I can, and have a way to share my thoughts that just happens to reach the world. Yay internet! I like that T.S. Eliot quote. It reminds me of something I read that said the purpose of emotions is to fuel you to action. That concept has stuck with me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I like that, too. Certainly a better purpose than the stewing and lamenting (other natural tendencies for moi)…better that I write it out. Likely less tedious for others, too. Thanks much, Ally…I LOVE the thoughts you share. Keep ’em coming. 😘


  2. Wow – this is beautiful, Vicki. I love, “but if I can leave a trail, for DD and any who follow, the chain will be less broken – those fascinating nuts and berries from the family tree?”

    You are doing your work – and DD along with all of us get to benefit. Great job of turning blood into a path others can follow. ❤ ❤ ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You’re the cutest thing ever. I love all your side quips! And this: “The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.” Wow! I’ve never heard that quote before, but it sums blogging up completely (as least for me)!! Aside from that, I’m tripping out over the title of your IG post. What are the odds?! Love it! And love the post! 🤍

    Liked by 1 person

  4. First off, I find it funny that the urge to write or edit one of my pieces always seems to come when I need to be doing something for the client or work that actually pays the bills. When creativity calls though, it’s hard to put down that urge. I may be missing your point, but I thoroughly get writing to instill hope and leaving a legacy. I consider hat my goal too. My question back to you is this: what’s wrong with that? And probably more important, how is what you’re doing any different than Michelangelo or Da Vinci or any of the great writers of the world? Did Hemingway start out trying to create great literature or art or was he just trying to say what was on his mind. I suspect the latter. He had something that needed to be said and he put it down on paper. I could be wrong, I often am, but I think us writers tend to be horrible judges of our own writing, what we think is some phrases on the page compared to what others think is touching writing. For me anyway, I’ve created my blog because I have something to say and sort of, kind of, think it might resonate with others, but I never really know until they read it. Anyway, a wonderful post. Thanks for sharing! (Sorry for the book.)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m smiling…I quite like ‘a book’ as a reply. You’ve given me some good stuff to think about…starting with the sneaky habits we seem to share — sidelining other work to tinker with our blogging fun. Good to know I’m not alone. And…your question — what’s wrong with any/all of that? You nailed it — it’s the part about being hypercritical of my own writing…and especially my tendency to hold other creative works — artistry, music – in higher regard. But I shouldn’t. Thanks for the friendly nudge and camaraderie. Smiles to you, Brian! 😉😘😉

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I suspect we’re alike, I’m incredibly hard on my own writing. I always hold others in higher regard. Sometimes maybe that’s rights, sometimes, maybe it isn’t. For what it’s worth, I learn something new and interesting every time I read your blog. Keep writing. Happy Wednesday.

        Liked by 1 person

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