Recently I started (again) to write my book.

It was not the book I had wanted to write last year – the one that would be fun, informative, practical, light and delicious. It has not been all that comfortable and effortless to write, as I had thought it should be.

Today, my eyes brimmed with tears as I typed. And still – the words flowed freer than they have in months. My words are light and dark. There are good moments and there are shadows. No one is an angel in my script, not even the first woman I revered as a child. Grief is allowed. So is joy.

I have allowed imperfections room to dance on paper, and by extension I have been able to allow wonderful things room to shine too. By allowing sadness a moment of its own to express what it wishes to say, I find myself happier at the end of the sentence.

This is unexpectedly easier than trying to write a 100% cheerful, picture-perfect essay. I feel lighter writing with the vulnerable, yet freeing feel of surrender powering my writing.

 

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