A LOVE LETTER, FOR THOSE WHO CAN’T NOT
I find myself at times heavy with the sense of what it means to have chosen this life, and by default to have turned my back, on the other.
Do you ever feel like you really REALLY should at least TRY?
To, I don’t know –
Do life the way we’re apparently supposed to? Be APPROPRIATE?
I don’t mean in an over-arching sense; I certainly never have the feeling or idea that I should get a job, follow ‘success’ (ha!) in the way of the world.
I’m talking about the smaller things.
The moments in time, when it becomes once again crystal fucking clear to you that you can’t even normal a LITTLE bit.
That no, you don’t want to get up in the morning and go straight to breakfast and the pool, even if you’re in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
That no, you don’t WANT to sit around all day lunching and drinking just because it’s the weekend, or even a special occasion.
Even though when you do need to reset and tune in, you do it instantly, of course, no question!
But it’s more the IDEA of it, isn’t it? And I don’t know about you, but there are moments when I catch myself NOT WANTING TO NORMAL even a LITTLE bit, even with those nearest and dearest to me, not unless I’ve at the very least first done what I need to do for ME for the day, and it does feel heavy for a second.
At times I even feel slightly down about it –
As I walk away.
Into my journal.
With my thoughts.
CREATING and UNLEASHING and finally I can BREATHE –
– Turning my back on the laughter and carelessness of those around me, because –
Because I ‘have to’ work?
My entire business and life is based around the fact that I never HAVE to do ANYTHING, so really there’s only one explanation here:
Because I can’t not.
I knew it 🙂
But yet that small part of me still, and I don’t know if this happens for you – ? That small part of me does wonder –
IS there something wrong with me?
Am I fucking up my life, that I don’t create these pockets, these apparently CONTINUALLY FUCKING NEEDED pockets, of not DOING anything?
So that I can look back and say –
I was there.
By the pool.
At the bar.
Talking about –
Making memories of … well. And I do want to make memories, I do! But yet, in the moment, when I have to choose, I always seem to choose:
The ever-lasting fucking pull and push of what’s inside of me.
And I’ll never EVER be done. And there’s always another piece to write there’s always something that wants to come out of me, and if you remotely think I’m talking about business vs life then you are SO not one of my people because what I’m talking about is art and the beat of my HEART baby, and the fact that if I don’t do THIS?
I do just lose my shit.
And I want to eat it sleep it breathe it I AM it and when I try to take it OUT I am –
And I can’t –
BE. No matter how much I MAY try to try! I just – can’t.
This is not about BUSINESS.
This is not about making MONEY.
This is not about doing the WORK.
This is about being one of the few people who truly can’t NOT. Who becomes miserable –
Emotionally, physically, all of it.
– if they don’t listen and act DAILY on the call.
And I know what happens, when I tell myself, it’s okay, you can miss a day, it won’t hurt, spend time, with others, be normal, for a breath – !
When for a brief second I nearly manage to convince myself that I even WANT to take that time, turn away, from my art, from my SOUL!
And what happens is simple –
EVERYthing starts to fall apart.
The almost tangible urge to tear.
Limb from limb.
My own and anybody who dares to come near me.
And I find myself –
Bound, in frustration, my soul screaming, in chains, feeling SHACKLED by the very simple fact that I’m alive and yet not LIVING!
And if it continues I fall –
A mild depression.
And it will grow and it will suck me in –
And I find myself –
Beginning to feel helpless.
No fucking desire to do ANYTHING.
Wondering what is even the point of this.
And I wonder, briefly, from the depths of my own admittedly somewhat dramatic despair –
Is this what they FEEL, every day, since they do in fact live without UNLEASHING, every day?!
Is this what it’s like, to be normal?!
Is this why they –
YES. ONE WOULD FUCKING ASSUME. That it IS why they do like that.
With the food.
And the drugs.
And the alcohol.
And the media.
And the constant constant CONSTANTLY cloying and pressing need to just ESCAPE and NUMB and HIDE but oh – !
With a smile on your face and a beer at the barbie and a ‘she’ll be right, mate!’, ‘yeah – I’m fine! You?’
And then turning –
At night –
Or behind the closed door of your face –
Into DESPERATION and can this really be how it’s meant to BE.
Or, worse still, not even noticing that, because you truly bought IN to the entire.fucking.sham.
That this is how it is.
That this is how we DO.
Because I will tell you, that at times although I wish for the merest second that I could DO like that, just to ENGAGE like that, just to smile and let go for a MOMENT, I will tell you –
I’m not much GOOD at it.
I just … can’t.
And I will fall and I will flail and I will FOLD into sabotage and depression and inner TURMOIL and I will spiral down –
And it will feel like I’ve been lost and floating forEVER, but yet – I’m talking about a day or two! Here and there, and mostly not HERE.
Something snaps inside of me.
As it so often has before. As it only CAN. As I KNOW you’ve felt. And once again I am filled with the fire and the truth:
Enough is ENOUGH.
And I will, yet again, walk away –
Traipsing dusty streets endlessly –
Travel as far as I need to –
To turn back in to ME.
And I will write and write and write and write and the world –
Will fade away.
And can fucking leave, for all I care, ALL of it, because FINALLY –
I can breathe again. It all makes sense again. I am here again. Ignoring again. Not caring, again. Not ABLE, in fact, to even try to try or try to GIVE a single –
Because I don’t actually give a fuck, NO. Because I give so much of a fuck, for what I do give a fuck about and what I can’t NOT.
Because in the end, it always just seems to turn out that I can only ever be me.
In the end, it always just seems to come back –
And this morning as I turned, with a little heaviness in my heart, away, yet again, from the possibiity of a day of –
It’s Bali! That’s what you DO!
– As I walked the dusty and dirty and so-familiar streets of my Bali home, to places I’ve not been for the past 18 months, to find myself sitting now, here in the same place I’ve sat so many times before, the same smiling girl serving me the same coffee while I, as always –
I had to smile.
Because even though I’ve not been here, where I did once call home, for several years, nothing has changed.
She’s still here.
The streets and the sweat and the grime is still here.
The beauty and the RAW power is still here.
I’m still here.
We’re all still the same.
Nothing has changed.
And yet everything, is always changing.
All I ever wanted to do was to write and speak and create and inspire and motivate and empower others –
To press play.
And all I’ve done, through millions of words and all around the world and over so many years now is just:
The beat of my soul.
In how I show up
Ignore the world.
Feel mildly guilty about it, for a moment.
And then remember –
But I wasn’t born for that world.
And then forget –
As I write.
And somewhere along the way, as nothing changed and I continued to simply walk away and turn within and RELEASE, like this, it evolved and it grew and it became –
A multi-million dollar empire.
Millions of lives impacted via my message.
‘Fame’ online and all of the good and bad of how people see me because of that.
But don’t you see?
All I ever was, was a girl with her journal and her pen and her thoughts.
Doing what I can’t not.
It’s all I’ll ever be, of that I’m sure.
And the empires may build and fall around me, and the making of money is EASY, actually, but the truth is that I don’t care about any of it, except for this.
Because really, the only truth is this:
Life is Now. Press Fucking Play.
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