My life has changed a lot lately, and I want to talk about it. I'm ready to talk about it.
The thing is, we often define ourselves using the things we've lost. What we've rejected. Run from. That isn't what I'm about to do here.
When life changes, perspective becomes so important and intrinsically influences how we move forward.
So, I've gotten lost.
Not in the cliche "I don't know myself" kind of way. Instead, I am embracing the spaces I used to avoid.
I'm spending more time alone, and with people. I'm doing the things I want to do, instead of what someone demands of me. I'm getting better at saying yes and no. I am writing in a spectrum that I've exploded, getting more provocative and personal. I am taking chances, and when I fail, am pushing myself harder. According to the doctor who gave me stitches the other day, "I'm a fucking hustler."
So much of this is about one thing: getting lost.
Lost in good friendships. In hugs that feel like safe. In my own writing, and in the words of others. In the forest. In exploration and hole-in-the-wall stories and at dog parks.
All of this lost-ness is about not things I've lost. Instead, it's about rediscovering my basic needs and perhaps things I've forgotten to appreciate.
For example, last night during an 'Ask Me Anything' on Twitter, which was hosted by the wonderful Booked for Review, someone asked me:
"But are there some things you commit to words that you don't share due to a revelation of pain or anger or vulnerability?"
The answer is simple: no, nothing is off limits. As a writer who has a disgusting amount of emotions, I am able to separate them from my craft; I can get lost in vulnerable subjects, but still, share them with others without fear. I think that ability makes me a better writer, and more accessible to people who may resonate with some of the things I have to say.
Writing is all about connection, and all about getting lost.
This is my reminder to get lost every once in a while.