On my morning drives, I can go two different ways. One is a direct path, a shorter path to my coffee. The other is the scenic route if you will. It's a residential drive where kids are off to school, and their humans are flanking them beside or chasing after them. Some kids are on bikes, and their humans are chasing after them (probably pissed they got them said bike); there are dads walking hand in hand with their kids, couples working out together, and doggos along for the morning school drop-off. There is a lot of affection and care in these morning routines that I drive by, and it's stitching up some inside pain I didn't know was there. It's making me feel like the sun is not the bad guy, you know? You know that line in a story that says something to the effect of "let out a breath they didn't know they were holding in"? I always thought that was dumb, but I now get it because of these drives. I am calling it the "Americana" drive to my morning Starbies.
In ninth grade, my English teacher had us memorize Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" as an assignment, and I'm so grateful that she did. If I'm being completely honest, I often feel like I am on the road, not taken. And it's lonely a lot of time. But having Bob's (idk if they called them that; I'm just being cutesy) iconic poem woven into my brain has been a great way to find my footing. I wish I'd known that I'd call the road not usually taken my home, my path. I think it would've kept me calm along the way, probably made me wiser ahead of some yeses, and would've been better for my portfolio, career, etc. But you know, it is what it is.
Usually, when I lean into "it is what it is," it's to get cozy in the version of things that don't quite fit, don't give me a real feeling of peace or safety, don't entirely pass the vibe check but I'm there so let me get cozy.
But lately, the part of the Serenity Prayer that leans into the serenity part is home, is cozy, is where the safe space is home. I'm making friends with the "it is what it is" of everything.
The thing about non-fiction/memoir being your genre as a writer is that you have to offer an unreasonable level of vulnerability to connect with your reader. This is the first time as a writer that I don't feel comfortable with that offering. I'm in unfamiliar territory as a creative because the spiritual assignment is still there, but the method, the practice, and the technique are not the right fit anymore.
Not being a writer, not being a creative person, is not an option.
Writing about what's been happening, how it's shaping me, the entire invisible string that has been pulling me in this direction for about a year now, it's not something that feels like the creative "offering" it would've felt like in the past.
So what do I do? Do I write fiction? Do I go back to podcasting? Or do I take myself completely offline and offer my journals up to the alchemy that made me this way? I haven't a clue.
But that "flight or fight" of it all? It's been melting away, and now I'm faced with exploring joy, fun, pleasure, sunshine, and going for walks…outside. This road less traveled, completely unplanned but designed for me, feels like home.
And I have to say, it is good to finally be home and safe on this road less traveled.