Writing

I want to write, just to write. To return to the reason for my blogging a million and a half years ago. Not to have a driving purpose or a reason for every paragraph, comma or sentence. Someone recently pointed out that I plan to plan. That things just don’t get done that way. True my brain says, but the ‘dress right dress’ side of me needs structure. It needs standard work, a framework and a path.

There should be reason for doing a thing. Even if that reason is a simple because I want to. Time is one of the few things in life which you cannot get back. It cannot be borrowed, bought or stolen.

It can be saved, however. Being present is the key.

For me this means proactively acting. I cannot be present when succumbing to an inappropriate level of stress. This means following that pre-agreed upon path but remaining flexible to the ebb and flow of reality. It means maintaining a semblance of organization. Searching for that which is misplaced leads to stress, stress leads to frustration, frustration to mindlessness.

Being a flight nurse led me to the path of standard work. This bled into my physical presence in many aspects of my existence. Every tool has its place. Every project its methodology. Every idea its developmental structure.

The key is to maintain presence and not get lost in the procedure but to utilize the mechanism for positive production. A slope I need to be more vigilant to not slid down.

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Autumn dog snores

Autumn dog snores

A woodpecker is pounding on the cedar siding of my home, breaking the peace which is my reality this morning. Lucy, Steve and Bougie the cat are curled up in their spots on the furniture watching the birds through the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the autumn trees.

It is so easy to berate myself for being inside. For not working on something possessing a due date, or taking advantage of the amazing Michigan October weather. Instead, I am convincing myself that the cup of french press and listening to the dogs snore is just as important.

My home is a place of semi-solitude. One of peace and beauty simultaneously insulating me from the elements but letting those same elements in. A constant reminder of the things to be done.

For now, in this moment, I will accept the peace and watch the bluejay lift his head from the birdbath, only to fly away in search of that which I will never know.

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Whirl Wind

The past few weeks have changed the way I look at social media in the grand scheme of both who I am as a person and a professional.  I am currently in the basement of the BOB (Big Old Building) watching people tour the installations of ArtPrize waiting on a hand crafted beer in the city that claims the title of Beer City USA.  What am I doing here?  Blogging.  Seriously.  On my laptop writing.

To me—this is heaven.  The hum of the conversations, the dark lighting and the view of John doing what ever magic it is that brewers do.

This journey back to blogging was mired with emotional strife and an immense amount of personal struggle as I battled, and still continue to battle my way through an ultimate diagnosis of clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder.

Two years ago I mentioned the possibility of being open with these diagnoses and beginning to blog about it to Sean and Mike.  Two of my social media mentors.  They highly encouraged it, but the depression wasn’t well enough and my life circumstances were not close to being in order for me to do so.

So now, here I sit with 2 years, three different antidepressants and countless therapy hours under my belt.  I have lived, which is something I wasn’t certain would be the case and I find myself ready and wanting to write.

I want to write.

How blissful that statement is to a soul that utilizes words as an expression akin to my version of art.  Especially this time of year, which traditionally sees me at the bottom of my emotional reserve.

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