A Brief Reflection

Sitting at home tonight, writing and reflecting, working on a new piece about family seafood dinners that i'll hope to finish soon. While sifting through some thoughts, I ran across this piece that I wrote last year and decided to run on my blog. I wrote it about this time last year and it's speaking to my current place of need.

Something about this piece that I love is that it feels like it wasn't written by me. I had dinner with a local artist this past week and this sentiment resonated with her as she shared how often whole poems come to her and her pen just flows, seemingly out of nowhere. The thoughts are mine, and yet not mine, all at the same time. Thus, this piece of my writing is uniquely able to speak to me in a way that feels fresh and resonates deeply.

My writing process began with these words: "There is a part of me that is rush and restless and thinks it has all the answers. Then another, quieter, part realizes that it is okay to take things as they come and learn to simply be present where I am." These thoughts much later resulted in the reflection offered in the next few lines, which hit home tonight as i'm now back in the city I once left:

I recently left the city for a smaller town, in search of myself, in search of a slower pace of life, in search of a sense of rootedness in place and community. What I found after leaving is that where we live does not dictate how much we are-or are not-in touch with ourselves, our land, and our people. What matters always, everywhere, is our willingness to live authentically and intentionally.

A year since writing these words, they still ring especially true, particularly as i've returned to DC. Each day I have a choice to live clawing and fighting for a different way of life or to embrace both trial and treasure as they come my way, knowing that both will shape me into the kind of person I was made to be. In my mid twenties with no major list of world-shattering accomplishments, much of my story feels unwritten. Simultaneously, though, the weight of a story that is itching to be told bears me forward. I am, to be sure, not quite certain of what the future may bring, but in order to write my story well I know I must go on living, authentically and intentionally.