your first weekly post
when you decided to switch to weekly posts, you didn’t expect your last daily post to be just two days earlier. that left little time to craft the kind of reality-defining extravaganza that could take a week or more to prepare.
but that’s the thing about learning not to be a prick - you don’t have to be pushy, and you don’t have to be perfect. things can evolve on their own, and there’s peace in accepting that.
lately you’ve been wishing healing would move faster - that your emotions would click back online with all the work you’ve been doing - meditation, supplementing taurine, and setting boundaries. most of all, writing.
though the daily posts stayed sharp, they carried a weight of desperation.
yesterday was the first day you didn’t post in eight weeks. all day you felt on edge. all night too - even at the bar with friends, even on the couch with the cat. hum of unease.
this morning, cough-ridden and rusty, you thought about skipping the trip to the big town. but you splashed water on your face, downed a coffee, pulled yourself together. the hour-long drive at high speed shook something loose. for the first time in weeks, you looked around instead of straight down the barrel.
pink-red bushes dotting salt lakes. clouds like brushstrokes. and most of all - a feeling of lightness. illumination and weight both.
you’ve carried so many burdens in life - some forced on you, many chosen. letting go of one more - the spook of daily posting - feels like pushing off your brothers and father when they dogpiled you as a kid.
so this is your transition. from here on, you’ll write a little each day, refine as inspiration strikes, and publish when ready. you’ll release that grip you feel in your jaw, your chest, around your eyes.
you and your writing will support each other. remind each other to keep it light.