111 days into my life-altering journey of getting sober my life took a turn I would have never in a million years predicted. It imploded, it lit ablaze, and it burnt to the ground with such fierce force there was not a damn thing I could do. It was a landslide, and I was unable to stop it - it was too big, much too big for my will to enter in and change the course. I look back now at those days, the days I thought were my demise, the days I thought were the end, and I can see so clearly now that what broke me, actually birthed me. That pain has been my single greatest teacher. I remember clearly when the fire lit, falling to my knees with a deep and precise understanding that ‘holy fuck, I do not know what I am doing with my life’, and it was in that pain that life schooled me on the lessons of handing my will over, on surrender, on prayer. The gift of the enormity of that pain was that I was only capable of living life breath to breath, I was in such panic and such despair that I could not plan ahead, I could not control, I could not dream - I truly had to keep my head down and stay diligent - at all cost - at staying sober, staying alive, and making it through my day.
Those days, in that pain, I was handed something beautiful - I was handed the gift of space; divine intervention stopped the hands of the clock of my life and time turned to molasses, as I slowly but surely made it through each passing day. The other thing, the other amazing, and beautiful thing that occurred in those days when time was thick, and pain was all consuming, was the connection that I made to my Higher Power; this is an experience I do not think I will ever be able to put into words. Suddenly it was just me, on my knees + in deep grief, and a force that filled my body, touched me to my core, a force that felt … mysterious. I leaned on this force, I listened in, I did whatever I could to be near it. I followed it when it told me to go to water, I fell on my knees numerous times in the day to hear its words, to feel its guidance. In the molasses-slow time, and the heart-wrenching ache of my soul, I found God.
And now here I am, in sunny San Diego, in a life, I never knew possible with a man I never could have, in a billion-trillion-quadrillion-years, dreamed up. Here I am, plucked out of everything I knew, away from all things comfortable, learning to dance in a light so bright that I seem to only be able to take snippets at a time. I am here, and it is new, and I promised myself that amongst all of this good, alongside all of the change, I would slow down. I promised myself. I promised myself that my focus would be simple: my recovery, my practice of connecting with the God I found on those fateful, tear-filled days just mere moon cycles ago.
But it’s life and it’s hard, and slowing down is just so...slow. It’s uncomfortable and sometimes I do it so well; other times I find myself daydreaming, making lists, engaging in mindless internet scrolling, comparing my life to the ideas I have about another’s and beginning to feel an unjustified amount of fear, of lack, of ‘what the fuck am I doing’. All this quick thinking, all the distractions I find myself struggling to stay calm at the foot of grace, at the base of faith - I find myself beginning to struggle with life, taking the control back, and exerting the agenda I have secretly stored away in the attic of my heart that is marked, “still don’t trust this life”.
Today I know too much to play it dumb, I can feel the wrestle begin, and I can feel myself on the past track to loosing the battle. Life is going to win, it does every time. It's easier to let go, it's easier to surrender.
I write because it’s healing for me. I pray because it helps me build the faith to take the next step without needing to know the why, the how, the destination. My message is shifting, my human self is changing, what life want’s from me is unclear - do I blog more, write more, do I coach more, organize the house, decorate, hit up a yoga class, run a marathon, build an elixir bar, pray deeper, or harder, or what? Maybe I should cook more, or walk the dogs more, or longer, or in more creative patterns and ways. Should I learn a new thing? I can't. It's just too much.
I know the answer does not lie in adding ‘more’, being ‘more’, or ‘better’, or faster’. The answer (to the problem that only exists in my mind) resides in being where I am, accepting what is, sitting in the change, the joy, the mystery, the discomfort.
I’m signing off of Instagram for a month, or two, or maybe three.
I’m signing off because I need a break. I need a break from the mindless, I need a break from the busy, from the full, from the never-ending world of comparing. I need to be here, on my own blog, and write for the reasons I love to write - it’s healing for me, and less for why I seem to be writing on that platform - for likes, for the hustle, for the approval. Will I ever stop hustlin’ for approval? I don't know, but at least I can feel myself doing, and I don’t like it. Here, on my blog, I don’t know who reads this, I can't see who likes it, and to be honest - I don't care. I just want to write. I want to pray, and I want to have a close connection to life, to the moments that pass, to the God that I believed saved my soul and gave me a second chance.
So I will be here, I will be writing about this strange and beautiful adjustment to San Diego. I will be focusing on self, on slowing down, on minding the simple pieces of beauty in the seemingly mundane.
Here was my sign off from IG:
I love this platform, I love the way we have the instant power to connect, inspire, be inspired. But there are always 2 sides to a coin, and like anything, there is a shadow side to social media. In the pursuit of connection, I find myself disconnecting; in the name of using my words as a healing tool for self, I find myself mindlessly scrolling, comparing, counting likes + measuring my worth; I’m hustling to find the right words so that you will notice me, I will feel success. It’s not healing for me when I lose my voice, when I lose me, in the name of being what I think you want. When I get the likes I feel good, and when I don’t hit the mark - 200 feels good for me these days - I feel like my very words have failed, my soul wasn’t right enough, wasn’t good enough. This is unhealthy. I need a break. So much is shifting in my life and I’m frightened to step back, I’m scared to pull my hands away and take a deep breath. What if I lose my momentum? What if no one remembers that I am a writer, a coach? What if they forget who I am. This is not healthy. I need room to breathe, I need to risk losing it in order to reconnect with self. I’m taking 30-90 days away; I’ll start with 30 and see. I’ll be on my blog because the truth is that I absolutely need to write, but on my blog, I can’t see who reads it, who likes it, who follows it; on my blog I write for the reasons I need to write, it is my medicine. It’s not for likes or for the hustle, it’s for me.
Sometimes we just need a break, and I know for me, a frightening little break from this will do my soul some serious good.