I walked to the water today.
No plan, no sense of time.
Well, not really anyway.
I sat there for awhile. I listened to music and made myself be still. I posted on social media, because, who's perfect?
I fell deep into my thoughts and I didn't think at all.
I listened to the water hit the dock, to the birds talk.
I felt alive.
It's crazy really, how something so small can be so important. How we lose track of what matters, how, as we grow up, we forget what the water looks like as it waves.
I lose it a lot, the things that make me happy. Looking at flowers, standing in the ocean breeze, painting pretty pictures and listening to amazing music.
Dancing because I can.
It's crazy really, how life is so simple yet we make it so hard.
Want to be happy? Let yourself explore. Let yourself do things without being perfect. Let yourself fail. Let yourself live.
Want to find what you love? Stop thinking so much. Stop running. Stop sleepwalking. Wake up. Let life come to you. Let yourself live.
It's crazy really, how simple life really is.
Because we complicate the shit out of it.
We put pressures on ourselves to find "our calling" and even when, if, we find it, we decide it's not enough — that that couldn't be our calling. Because that is not good enough.
We focus on our job titles instead of our homes. Our bodies instead of our souls.
We create, yet we don't think it's good enough — as good as someone else's.
And so we stop.
And then we suffocate.
And then we wonder why it's so hard to breathe.
This morning I realized that for the first time in a long time, I feel more confident and secure in where I'm going in my personal life than in my career.
I don't know what I want to do, but I know what makes me happy when I'm in me time.
And that's huge for me.
To focus on my personal well-being over my career advancement or looks, well that was something I thought I had forgotten to know how to do. I didn't even think about it — all that mattered was the job, the city, the photo — the bio.
And today when I realized that I am starting to feel like me again — like Stasia — I realized that it wasn't because of my resume or my pant size.
It was because of my love of music, my taste in interiors, my love of coffee, my need for connection, my heart — my soul.
And that felt good.
But then I realized something else — something more.
I am enough.
What I want to do is enough.
And, when I let myself be exactly who I am, I know exactly what I'm meant to be.
I'm a writer.
I shove this notion away time and time again. I search for ways to be different — to be "better." This week, an MBA, last week, a songwriter.
But the truth is I love to write. I love to write these blogs. I love to write in notebooks and my phone and on napkins and in my head.
I love to write.
For a long time I stopped. I thought that it wasn't good enough because I was never going to be good enough. I thought that I needed to be an entrepreneur or insert any other job title you can think of here. I thought that, the only way I could write was when I was going through hardship — when I was the "tortured artist."
But I didn't want to be tortured anymore, to be in strife anymore. I didn't want to be a writer, because I wanted to be someone else.
So I stopped.
But the truth is that just like the job title, the body, or the status — I don't need my struggles. I don't need to be someone else.
I never did.
My struggles have given me inspiration, sure. My "need" to strive for greatness helped me to reach others, absolutely.
But that is not the only reason I can do this — I want to do this.
Sometimes, it's the river. Sometimes, it's a conversation with a friend.
Sometimes, it's for no reason and sometimes, it doesn't come to me at all.
So am I good? I don't know, maybe. Am I the best? No, not even close.
And all of that is okay.
All of that is enough.
I'm not sure if writing will ever be my bread-winner or if I'll ever get published further than my Facebook page.
But I don't care.
Because it makes me feel alive.
And it is enough.
Writing, laughing, painting, listening, talking, designing — everything that makes me, me — that is enough.
I'm done sleepwalking.
I just woke up.