“Trust me, I don’t know what I’m doing” (after Maya Stein~linked below)

But poems & tea (or coffee) seem to help

@ 10 Lines by Maya Stein

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

Oh, my Dearest Reader~ if you haven’t given up on me yet, Thank You!! Thank You!!

Please don’t take my delay in writing as I sign I don’t love the very guts out of you, because I do! That’s right, the guts!😂 (& ps~ above is a photo of me trying to carry a ‘clearly too big for me entire tree branch,’ in what appears to be mud🤣. So I will be stepping slowwwlllyy). (pps~this Is a metaphor for how my life feels right now~especially if a dunce hat & an elephant were added).

But back to you. Anyone who’s here in this space, reading &/or writing long form anything; creating anything; trying, believing, in spite of, along side of…(fill in your own life’s “both/and;” your own bitter & sweet)~

Well, I know you are ‘my people;’ you are my “face across a crowd,” as Anne Haven McDonnell shares in her poem,

“She told me the Earth Loves Us”. PLEASE READ THIS POEM.

Yes, just your being here in this community, allows me to be confident that somewhere deep inside of you, lies a center beaming pure light.

I remind myself that in the darkest places, the Light shines the brightest.

I remind myself that I have a Light too.

And so I am sharing a link to this poem, “She told me the Earth Loves Us” because it spoke to me, comforted me, and well, maybe someone out there needs this too; maybe her words, or mine can be your light. These words, her words, read aloud by another poet in a gathering hosted by the positively lovely, sensitive, & oh-so-talented poet, Jess Janz of “Gentle Company”

(nearly a week ago now,) have been living in me all these days, reminding me, buoying me, saving me (along with some other favorite nourishing spaces & rituals of mine.)

These words, I felt them open me, soften me, & along with comfort~offer me a permission I “shouldn’t” have needed, but somehow still did. Permission to, (among other things, find):

a place to lie down and cry?’ Whether “green, mossed, shaded;”

or “rock-quiet, empty. Somewhere to hush and start over.” ?

Yes, after all this time.

Yes, even though.

Again & again, I come home to being a ‘feeling, flawed, flailing human,’ and reminding myself that’s why I’m here:

to feel it; all of it! To try, to fail, to try again;

to love, to create, to dream, & to teach.

To crack open; to share. To learn & grow.

To risk & care, connect, & lose & grieve.

And because as Brene Brown says:

“If we share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding,

shame can't survive."

Here’s a little secret (& the finger to shame): I’ve three quarters, or half way composed no less than 6 posts this past month.😯

I deemed each of them ‘not worthy’ of your consumption, or I lost interest, or I just fiddled with them so much, (in & out in the mere slices of time I’ve had) that even I couldn’t recognize my own point, any coherent theme.🤪 I became sick of myself! I now see that covertly, somewhere deep, there was a case building against me to never show up here again; never continue at all. Eeks!

Have you ever done that? Built a case against yourself? Maybe you’ve called to mind all the ‘other times’ you’ve mucked things up, or it hasn’t worked out for you? Perhaps you’ve worked up all the worst scenarios in vivid color?

(Anybody see “Inside Out 2” yet? It’s a winner, & “Anxiety” deserves an Academy Award).

But I digress. Have you ever been caught up in a shame spiral of ‘not good enough’ because you’re comparing (often your ‘real insides’ to the polished up ‘outsides’) others are presenting? Taking your solid “efforts” & holding them up to their finished “product,” as if all things were equal; as if comparison ever fostered creativity?

As if the ‘efforting’ itself wasn’t to be celebrated? As if You weren’t worth the effort? Do you ever tell yourself you will never catch up? Why bother? That you need to (catch up that is) in the first place? That there even is such a thing! Ha!

I do. I have. I did. A-gain.🤪

I forgot, that as Theodore Roosevelt says, “It’s Not the Critic who counts”.

I forgot, that I can’t be late to my own life!

Yes, in my own forgetting, my ‘protector parts’ (aka: ‘Managers’) have been making a real mess; taking up quite a bit of my time; crouching out my Wise, Centered Self. And while all in an effort to ‘protect’ me from my ‘Exiled’ parts~I’ve had to remind them things are different now. I’ve had to return to my nervous system practices & resource my own sense of ‘felt safety.’

(These terms are references from Internal Family Systems, IFS, which I’ll write more about at some point, but for now, if interested, see Richard C. Schwartz, PhD. )

Gratefully, dear reader, I did return to my nervous system practices that signal safety. And I did resume my rituals of walking, & poems; yoga, & moments of connection with myself & other heart-centered creatives. (See: “Writing in the Dark” & The Wild Writing Family with Laurie Wagner). It made All the difference.

Gratefully, I was reminded to be my own compassionate witness; to extend myself some Grace. Gratefully, I came home to my Centered Self.

So. While the ‘grinding, doing, proving, people-pleasing’ parts of me really want to go on & on here; write ever more about theories and say important, useful things, cite them, give credit to all of my teachers & share every poem I’ve read in a month & why I love it with you, and Lots Else….Lotssss Else…

I remember time is the most precious currency we have.

I remember, I just buried the mother of my best-friend of 46 years two weeks ago.

I remember, my own Mama passed on, exactly two years ago tomorrow.

I remember, I am doing hard, brave, unexpected things in my life.

Maybe you can relate? I’m sure of it.

And so, I’m just going to end with my own Poem.

Trust me, I don’t know what I’m doing, but

poems and tea seem to help. I hope they help you too! ☺️

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

“Trust me, I don’t know what I’m doing,”

but,

if you trust me,

I’ll try.

Trust me,

I never

know

what I’m doing,

what’s at stake.

Well,

sometimes I do, but

it’s then,

I’m at the extremes of myself-

in danger of coming undone;

Because,

it matters?

Do you live

like it all matters,

or nothing does?

What makes you settle?

Keep your promises?

What do you “hold

like a glass vase?”

Like gravity?

Like a baby chick?

Like hot coals?

What do you pick up?

Have trouble putting down?

Tell me,

what smells like home to you?

Tastes like midnight?

Sounds like a first crush?

We can start over, ya know?

Trust me.

I don’t know what I’m doing,

but I do know,

I’m always starting over.

Even when I don’t have to.

Or am I?

Can we ever?

Start over?

Feel safe in our own skin?

Toast to the health of our sons?

Our souls,

eye to eye,

beat to beat,

remembering

one another;

all the rest;

how we made it out alive?

Well, So far.

Can we ever

give up

what we think

we need?

Like air, like water, like sunlight?

Like our secrets, our sins, our stories, our shame?

Can we ever

allow

ourselves

to rest, to pause, to find out

what

we’re capable of;

surprising, even our highest Self,

placing her in the window,

with the good light?

Let’s arrange flowers,

in the center of the table,

before we’ve done the dishes,

found our coffee, made the bed;

Yes!

Each day,

choose beauty

from your own garden.

Bring your face to it.

Open-mouthed,

& close-eyed,

suck it all

in,

keep

huffing

until dizzy,

intoxicated.

Spill

the milk.

Leave it

to curdle.

Fall down,

anywhere;

dream,

a remembering

of seeds.

You & them,

dark places & floods,

heat & worms,

& a fierce cracking

open,

from which poured,

everything,

you,

no longer were.

Trust me, I don’t know what I’m doing,

but

poems and tea seem to help.

*Title & phrase within Poem “hold like a glass vase,” credited to Maya Stein @10 Lines