When you feel like you’re getting nowhere

 

 

A couple of weeks ago, I submitted a 2,000-word story to a writers’ contest but can’t stop replaying the prose in my mind, knowing I could have done X, Y or Z to create a more compelling argument for why I should win the New York trip to study under a top-selling novelist. Then there’s a guest blog post I committed to writing, due in less than a month, yet I’m not sure I’m on the right track. During a recent yoga practice, I experienced one of those light bulb moments when I realized that, even after nearly four years since stepping foot into the hot room, I continue to learn something new—about yoga, about writing, about myself: Practice is simply the art of repetition—a habit or routine we adopt. And, whatever it is we’re practicing might not ‘click’ until we’re ready to move to the next level. So I keep writing, studying the craft and, most importantly: breathing.

What do you commit to regular practice?

Image courtesy of holohololand at FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Give it up

[Image credit: photostock]

To gain that which is worth having,
it may be necessary to lose everything else. ~ Bernadette Devlin

A close friend of mine has invested a lot of money.  She’s sacrificed relationships and her health, time with family.  She’s forfeited sleep, fought the good fight and hit pretty darn close to rock bottom in some people’s estimation.  But she is gaining that which is worth having … to her.  I’m a bit envious because I don’t know that I have what it takes to lose everything in order to gain that which is worth having … to me.  I recently watched a YouTube video about how success is synonymous to breathing.  That you have to want to succeed as much as you want to breathe.  In other words, do you need whatever it is in order to live?  Because if you do, you must be willing to sacrifice everything you hold dear.

Would you be willing to lose everything, in order to gain that which is worth having?

Masking the heartache

[Image credit: scottchan]

Wear a mask that grins and lies, it hides our cheeks and shades our eyes.
The debt we pay to human guile, with torn and broken hearts,
we smile … ~ Paul Laurence Dunbar

You know who you are.  The one who dons a mask to hide the pain.  Your countenance contains no clue to the misery locked behind the walls of your heart.  To the outsider looking in, your life is good.  Productivity equates to happiness and when someone inquires of your well-being, your natural response is “fine,” of course.  But fine, in your book, means breathing.  Able to function.  Equipped with skills at compartmentalizing betrayal, disappointment and shattered dreams … without self-combusting.  You believe if you pretend long enough, the difference between reality and fantasy will blur, making it impossible to discern.  So you smile and attempt to fool those who know you best.  Because if you succeed, the lies have a greater chance at becoming truth and no one will be the wiser.  Especially you.

Do you hide a broken heart behind a mask of lies?