Trust the day

For about five years I kept a few notes about how I spent my days in my calendar diary. I would write about what I ate, the work I did, who I saw.  Sometimes when I would look it over I would feel as if I were repeating myself, day after day. There was very little said. And like I just told you, I did this for years. 

This year I have taken to writing a tiny story on those few lines about something that mattered to me in the day. I just pick one thing and I write about it. I think I told you in an earlier letter that I was writing a little poem about the day but these have not turned out to be poems. They are more reflections. A few thoughtful lines to sort out my feelings about something. I have not begun reading them over yet. It has only been a few weeks. I miss a day once in a while and I let that happen. Grace. Those blank spaces unfilled remind me to give myself grace. It's ok to miss a day.

These little bits of writing have been interesting to me. Sometimes I discover something. Sometimes I am surprised what I write or what I write about. Sometimes I repeat myself. And that's ok. It just a diary.  It is my own little creative act that has no purpose. There is a space to be filled and I fill it.

Writing is a way of sorting things. A way of understanding who I am and what I want. It is a means of expression. And there are other ways too. 

Recently I have been getting ready for a show that is a series of women and the moon. And I wanted to write about it. And so I did. I was not satisfied with what I wrote. I was not expressing myself clearly. I could not seem to say what I wanted to say. And then I thought, I don't have to write about this. I already expressed it. I drew it. I hooked it. I made pictures and those pictures were my words. I said what I had to say. And I just wanted the women in those rugs to speak their piece and the people who saw the show to hear what they were saying, what I was saying I suppose. And I wanted the people who see it to hear what they themselves have to say, what the rugs make them think. I don't need to narrate the show, I want the rugs to speak for themselves. And so I let go. I stopped trying to make words string themselves together. 

When I told my writer friend this she said I am glad you released that. And that is what I felt, a release. Sometimes I get an idea and I hold it close and I feel like I need to carry it out. And I try to. And then I try some more. And the real answer is to let go, to release yourself, to offer yourself some grace. And I cannot always tell when this is true and when I might be just trying to avoid the hard work. And then I remind myself, "You love hard work."  When the work I am doing is hard it might be because it is not the right work for me. Sometimes I am avoiding something for the good reason that it is not the right thing.

Trust.

Trust that I will know what to write, what to write about. 

Trust that I will know what to hook next.

Trust in the day.

Trust beauty. Trust ease. Trust love.