Meeting my Mojo Again

I’ve been a writer my whole life. But, like most creative endeavors, my output can come and go in waves. Recently, I’ve been trying to harness this kite in the wind to no avail. As I teach all of our writers, however, this art form is only about 10% inspiration, and 90% discipline, so there’s no excuse not to produce. All one must do, according to writer Mary Heaton Vorse, is simply “...apply the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.” Basically, sit your butt down and write.

Friends, I failed miserably. I was tense, unsettled, distracted, and bored all at once. I couldn’t engage the discipline muscle as it applied to one of my favourite forms of expression; writing. I was still working out regularly, I was following a vegan, gluten-free diet, and managing my finances. I wasn’t falling apart, but I couldn’t contact the muse, despite having the fastest Wifi plan on offer.

It had been a long winter, as I shared with you in an earlier blog. I was nursing a broken heart. 

And then I was angry with myself for not yet having healed the dang thing. I went for long walks in the forest, I reduced alcohol and caffeine. I only spent time with folks who lit me up.

Oh dear. Perhaps you can clearly see the problem here. I’d closed so many channels; I’d limited movement. I removed any opportunity for chaos or even spontaneity. I had completely contracted my energy, contracted and locked down my spirit, and then wondered why there was little creative output. I’d even perhaps allowed fear to govern. Even though I disguised my actions as seeking peace, what I had really done was begun to play small.

This is a fine line to walk. The truth is, I LOVED how I was living. I felt good. I was healthy and happy. My friendships were authentic and strong. I felt like I was moving forward. So why couldn’t I create?

Has this ever happened to you: you feel like you’re limited in your choices? Do you forget that you can be, and have everything that your heart desires? This is the part that I’d forgotten. I was controlling everything inside my environment, but forgetting that I could move outside of my environment as well.

A simple call over Messenger remedied this in a matter of minutes. 

“Marcy, come here,” Andrea, my high school bestie said.

“What? Are you serious; how can I?”

“The spare room is ready. You can work from anywhere.”

“The kids –. How much is the flight?”

“They’re cheap now. And the kids would love it. No mom around,” she laughed.

Two weeks later, I’m writing to you in Hawaii Kai, Eastern Honolulu. I’m here for two weeks. My mojo met me the minute I stepped off the plane and has been hanging around my neck like the gift of the lei I received upon arrival.

As I look out the window writing this blog in thirty minutes flat, all I see is possibility. Each breath is ripe with creativity. I’m still gluten-free vegan. I’m still good with money. Still deliciously single. Still working from “home.”

One big difference: my muse is back.

Hello old friend; glad you made the flight.