Good morning (hello, said in Adele’s irreplaceable voice).
I’m not on the other side yet, though I am operating on the flu (strand A), a hefty dose of prednisone, and less sleep than has become usual for me these days.
How are you, my dear readers?
It’s strange having a blog and not really knowing who reads it, or why—or why not. From the beginning, the majority of this blog has been my raw emotional process, more than most people would choose to place in public. More than I might even want to look back at. Those selves have been integrated, and now we are getting an upgrade. I love them too, even when it’s hard.
Illness, meaning, and writing day one
My flu feels like evidence of an ongoing transformation. Yesterday, in the name of “research,” my explorations included searches such as “the shamanistic perception of the flu” and “spirituality and the flu.” They did not disappoint in confirming my internal process.
So here I sit on another day one of writing my book.
Oh—I felt the pressure there.
Just like when I suggested to myself that I would try consistency by writing a blog post once a week in the new year. I used to hem myself into those expectations and inevitably become upset when they didn’t pan out. Now, I more swiftly redirect toward self-compassion and a realistic consideration of my “plate,” so to speak. I find that the gentler I am, the easier life becomes.
I am not very acquainted with easy—though we have been courting for quite a while. It’s a slow burn. The romantic aspect is taking its time, and right now we’re more like roommates trying to figure out daily life together.
Who am I writing for?
So who is my audience? Who am I writing to?
I would say: the feelers of the world. Deeply introspective souls who are on fire to hold space for the stories of others and walk alongside them. Poets, artists, musicians. People who don’t just watch a movie, but experience it—which, let me tell you, can be a tricky path.
Perhaps that’s why romantic comedies are my favorite genre. Though I can’t stick my head in the sand forever, so I’ve had to develop skills to separate my gift from content that might otherwise stay with me indefinitely. A gift and a curse.
Adaptation, strategy, and compassion
Here I am on “day one,” attempting to utilize ChatGPT for organizational purposes—something I never thought I would do. But resistance helps no one. You have to move with the current of life, not swim against it. So this is me adapting.
As humans, we are nothing if not adaptable. It’s one of the most important aspects of existence. Much of it is written into the program—the coding—of a human being. It’s done for you.
I spend a great deal of time helping people upgrade their subconscious adaptations into conscious strategies. Because adaptations that once kept us safe can later turn against us in the form of maladaptive coping mechanisms. Often, they can be integrated into part of someone’s gift package more easily than they realize.
Seeing a person make a connection they’ve never made before—and watching hope and relief spread through their body—that is something worth living for. Along with everything else the world has to offer.
Loving life, chosen family, and continuity
I love life and living, though I haven’t always loved mine. Over time, I realized that was a terrible waste—and that I could love my story too.
So here I am, starting over again and again. Because I can. Because I get to. That, I know, is privilege.
I’m less blissfully unaware of what’s happening in the world than I once was—no longer consumed by my struggles, but not drowning either. There is a natural order where issues return cyclically for deeper healing, both individually and collectively. There is a reason for this, even when it’s unclear.
I find myself becoming someone who prays—maybe even to God. That resistance, too, was born of human hurt. Those hurts don’t sting the way they used to. I take the parts of memory I’m clear on and keep moving forward.
I have lived many lives within this one lifetime. That makes me far less afraid of death than I was when I was disconnected from my body and scattered in my mind.
Steven
Now, just a regular update—lighter at last. I dive straight to the bottom and slowly work my way back up to float and rest.
Steven is coming to visit. I’ll be picking him up at the airport today. I hope not to gift him influenza; I should be just past the most contagious stage.
I don’t think I’ve had the flu—or even a fever—in nearly twenty years. My theory is that I didn’t feel safe enough to get sick. I wasn’t embodied enough. My will drove illness away, which also removed my opportunity for shedding and regrowth.
Maybe I’ll tell Steven’s story more fully soon. One of my oldest and dearest friends. We met when I worked briefly at a veterinary hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia. I was about twenty-two, married to a man in the Coast Guard, with a one-year-old son. An unlikely friendship.
Steven sat beside me when I was placed on bed rest with my twin girls after almost losing them at twenty-two weeks. You never forget someone who shows up like that.
Steven—who once joked that babies are “the other white meat.” Steven—who plays the banjo, is a good Southern boy, and still manages a veterinary clinic to this day. There are a million more things I could say, but for now, know this: he is chosen family.
Closing
I’m nearly out of steam—literally—for this post, and yet I could sit here and write all day, all at once. I often wonder if my book will be written that way. Is this mania or flow state? How do people tell the difference, anyway?
Thankfully, I am leaving my pathologizing era and entering one of spiritual awakening. I have the symptoms to prove it. These days, when something arises, I don’t immediately run to the ER—I explore how it may relate to energy. Turns out: a lot.
I hope you enjoyed this wandering update on my life. If you feel moved to comment and share what’s coming up for you, it may inspire future posts. Who knows—maybe this blog will become the next thing it wants to be.
I’ll leave you with a favorite Martha Beck quote of late:
“Magic is the thing that wants to happen next.”
Yes. It is.
All my love,
C
