Friday, The 24th of May
A descent into what this week looked like from the notes app and written beachside with a glass of wine.
This week has felt a lot like vulnerability. Like verbally processing until you get to the point. watching friends being let go and made redundant. Like thoughts written down quick in the notes app just in case, you forget or paragraphs tended too gently with sea breeze blowing in your hair.
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The notes app where you are honest with every bit of yourself. Filled with phrases, words and run-on sentences that come as quickly as lightning and leave as fast as a lover in the night.
Just like “my coffee has gone cold now as I sit at my desk and try to organise my life into neat little piles. Into something that resembles order.” Or like “The noise of the daily commute. Children on the bus forgetting that other people are there, dragging us kicking and screaming into their conversation.”. Phrases like “it feels a little bit different when friendships die a little” with no context.
Words like Limerance. Meaning the state of mind which results from romantic feelings for another person and having an intense longing for them even if they don’t fully reciprocate.
Sentences like “Listening is an artform I’ve found I’ve learnt to perfect over the years. the art of silence. the allowance you give peple to speak. Speak over you. Lay their words in a heap at your feet. Their meandering thoughts the yellow brick road meant for you to follow. The one who asks questions while waiting for people to ask the same of you, but it never comes. Some of us are just meant to hear for others. To be the bucket with which their words, thoughts and feelings collect. The butterfly net that traps what they need.”
The random pieces that fall into your head.
The awkwardness of elevators.
The dichotomy of a human being. Strong but soft. A youthful appearance but hiding an old soul. Content in life, but in a state of melancholy. Head in the clouds, full of dreams and visions but life lived earth bound and centred. Sunshine warmed but drenched in whisky.
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The paragraphs written beachside in the autum weather. Nurtured and crafted with the patience of the fading sun.
This week also feels like a forced return to where I said i was going to go before I got distracted by all the shiny pretty things. Like people whispering in my ear. Devil on my shoulder. Doubts and nerves in my soul. But is is friday today. And she is warmed by wine and chilled by the ocean breeze and her spine straightens and strengthens against the reminder. The reminder whispered into her ear. That the idea, the thought, the vision was always clear and I was the one who muddied the waters. Danced on the still waters and cursed the chaos it created.
Then came the reminder that the whole point of the dinner table is for a little bit of chaos to ensue. Because no one talks about only one subject at the dinner table. How boring would it be if all I talked about was grass? I would have no friends. But the point of the dinner table, of this writing space, this community I want to grow and nurture, is that everyone is allowed a seat at the table as long as they bring their full selves. No selective bits and pieces. All the mess and mayhem. It is safe and it is holy but one must abide by those rules. Myself included.
Substack was always the idea. the plan. It is the place that I can allow myself to be truly myself. Away from the prying eyes of people who know parts of you and assume they have the whole. A little bit of anonymity gives you a delicious sense of power, I’ve found. The truth that it births is different. It is whole and fuller and deeper than people realise. Substack for me is the allowance I needed to let myself come to the table with everything. With travel, art, life, mess, writing, photography, all of the nuances that create a whole human being. Rather than sectioning them off into neat little niches for aesthetic purposes. Fuck that.
So I’ve deleted instagram and all of my socials for the week (Let’s actually see how long I can last). It is only day 2 and I dont really know what to do when I am holding my phone, but to be quite frank, my nervous system and my creative mind thank me for the lack of bombardment from these online spaces. the apps were deleted from my phone and within minutes, the mind cleared and the writing came back. I made space in my own head for me to listen out for inspiration and she speaks well when she has my full attention. Not just little glances and glimpses. She demands all eyes or nothing at all. funny how creative muses tend to reflect ones inner being. I call it red sweater strength. the red sweater, the thing you wear to make you feel feminine, strong, sexy. all the things society likes to remind us not to be but all the things I refuse to let it beat out of me and from it comes all the good yummy things. Like art, sex and love.
Chin Chin Bellas.
xoxo
