I have been doing yoga, at least to a small degree, daily, and it’s made me feel wonderful physically. Recently yoga has helped ground me and helped me lift up and feel weightless. After participating in a few Instagram yoga challenges, I was amazed that I could commit to yoga every day. And then I thought, why the hell aren’t I writing? It’s time to either write, or stop calling myself a writer.
Then this past Thursday I started reading a book that I received for Christmas eight months ago called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It’s about unleashing creativity and learning how to work with it. It’s about quieting the voice inside you that wants to tear you down. I‘ve done several days of the Morning Pages exercise, which has really helped clear me out, at least as far as I can tell. I’m only a chapter and a half in, and already I am noticing my “blocks,” my fears, my crazy insane but totally irrational fears of even trying. I’m not writing because I’m scared that what I write will be bad. I’m scared that the words that I haven’t formed and the stories I haven’t imagined will be bad! Crazy, right?
Then yesterday I attended a yoga workshop at lululemon hosted by Do The Crazy Thing and taught by one of my favorite yoga instructors Rebecca Carey. The yogis there experienced a practice full of heart openers, and then Ciona Rouse shared her dream of inspiring others to live the lives they dream of, the lives that beat and pulse deep in their hearts. So of course writing is on my mind.
So it seems like all the backbends and heart openers, all the juicy and delectable messages I’m digesting from The Artist’s Way, all the yoga and looking inward, and all the signs of the universe are aligning and rooting for me. Nothing is keeping me from writing except me. I have the time, and I have the tools.
What is on your heart today?