Refuse to Entertain Fear
Heart is a reality you can write
Your mind is a leaky boat trying to get to shore.
Much as you’re itching to sail aboard a better vessel, there’s no building one in the middle of a storm. For now, you need to stay afloat and steer yourself toward safety. You have neither capsized nor sunk, no matter how much sea water you ingested, no matter how many times the contents of your stomach ended up on deck, no matter how exhausted.
The weather is rough but here you are, still, limpet-like, the meat of life under a shell of hope.
You will tow this boat with a rope around your heart if you have to.
You expect the page to explain you to you.
It is your last resort, thinking out loud in print is all you can do. You take a creative leap and assume you’re close to shore. Your ink bleeds, your page wilts, your thoughts dissolve yet writing keeps you afloat, absorbing what weighs you down. You let go of unwanted cargo. The discomfort of your darkness matches the urgency of discovery.
You are intrigued by what you find, committed to understanding its presence, so you can be and do better.
Afford vulnerability dignity and words will hold space for you.
Embrace self-compassion, the lighthouse within.
Patience and gentleness nourish determination, purpose nurtures it. When the coast appears, it glows. You are closer to capable than you have been but not there yet; your heart is heavy, weary, and worn. You dread drowning; you relish the relief of having relinquished control. You have no idea where you’re going but possible feels like home after so long lost at sea.
The page is where you to thrive in an environment that only allows you to survive.
A digital mirror turned sentient undertakes collective self-inquiry.
You plug up the hole in the hull with crumpled pages.
The notebook is an internet, your mind sets sail alone, and then it finds others. Entire fleets and flotillas, armadas and convoys, solo navigators like you: We are immersed into the deepest recesses of our own humanness. Much fear, little joy, and the omnipresent threat of intellectual paralysis looming on the horizon make for intense times.
The words we write hold us accountable; the conversations we have with ourselves spark all others.
The courage of empathy will bring us all home.
I’m a French-American writer, journalist, and editor now based in the Netherlands. To continue the conversation, follow the bird. For email and everything else, deets in bio.