This morning I wake up and the worries of the world, no, the worries of my world stick to the front of my brain like a sloth to its tree…hmmm, that didn’t quite hit its mark did it? Like my daughter’s candy-glue fingers to the public bowl of toffee treats? Like my daughters candy-glue fingers to the whitened wall? Ah what about, like the tiny bit of tinfoil wrapping to the smarmy butter stick. Ugh, you know what, today is just not my day.
Anyways, the worries consume me. They eat up all of the joy and excitement I am supposed to have at this time of year. It is all of the normal things I worry about. Like business and money and how to possibly forge my way into the writing world when I have absolutely no qualifications to do such a preposterous thing. You know, the usual. It is not as though I am worrying about the extraterrestrial beings that are invading Earth or anything direr than that. I suspect my worries are quite similar (in a roundabout way) to those of anyone who woke up this morning with worries swimming through their brain’s wavelengths (perhaps a bit better?).
A deep sigh releases from my chest. My fingers keep pounding these keys looking for some kind of an answer. Some kind of release from the tightening sensation I’ve felt in my chest since opening my eyes this morning. They search for all of the things I want out of this life but seem to be finding impossible to gather up. The solution must be out there somewhere. In some deep recess of imagination or future thought or intention. It must be floating aimlessly; hoping and praying that sooner or later I will get my shit together just enough to reach out and grasp its concept. Put the pieces together and get the plan formulated to action. However right now, right here as I sit in this Christmas clad living room I cannot fathom even the smallest morsel of what this scheme could possibly be made up of.
At least the clinging anxieties of this morning have ebbed since placing my fingers to this keyboard. They will likely emerge again when I am driving or playing a game of Monopoly with the kids or shovelling snow from the driveway while cursing under my breath about all of the god damned fucking snow, but I suppose that is for later torment.
Maybe the trick of it is to find that release and work it regularly. Write out the worries. Sing out the stress. Draw out the disturbance. Everyone has something and the beautiful part of this strategy is while we are releasing these ill at ease feelings we are practising our craft, perfecting our craft. Carrying us closer to the endgame. Bringing us to where we want to be.