Discovering Another Me

I don’t know if I mentioned I’m writing more creatively these days. Like, fiction-y-wise…(:

Yup, I’m pretty sure I’m writing a novel. I don’t know. I can’t really speculate as it is not something I set out to do. But, it definitely feels like it is going that way.

Who knows, though? It may get changed to a screenplay about halfway through as I really REALLY want to write something for myself as an actress. I’m just so uncomfortable to with this whole creation out of the abyss of my mind thing, that having to worry about writing it in a screenplay-ish format is kind of [unnecessarily] daunting and intimidating.

So, in order to keep moving forward with my frightened creative soul, I am just going to keep going on doing what it is resonding to. Not pushing it and not reprimanding or correcting or holding it back. Just letting it work at its own pace with its own style.

It seems to like this.

I seem to like this.

I’ve found that I feel so much more peaceful.

I’ve also found that I feel so much more passionate. And that I am so much more empowered.

I’ve found that I am so much less frightened. I feel bigger and more expansive.

I feel a moving towards something in a journey-like fashion rather than a race-to-the-finish line fashion. My soul is liking this.

It is liking it so much that it is finding time for so many things that my saboteur always told it that it didn’t have time for. Like, my novel-writing not taking away from my reading or this–my blog writing–or my friends and relationships or my living making or my work on my acting. Huh, so completely, it is adding to all of these things. Mainly in that it is giving me a self inwardly produced happiness totally independent from anything outside of myself or from other people. I feel I have more to give and am receiving so much easier than ever before.

I’m not going to question or analyze this much further because it is unnecessary and–surprisingly–I don’t feel compelled to either.

Breathing is easier.

Breath is life.

Life feels easier.

I could do this for an indefinite period of time. This journey-to-an-unknown-place thing. It makes even the unfulfilling bearable. I feel like for the first time in my life I’ve discovered what I’m supposed to do with my alone time in order to quiet my loudly self-sabotaging mind. Not reading. Not studying. Not watching TV. Not obsessively working out. Not eating. Not sex.


Well, sometimes sex–let’s be honest.


About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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