I’ve been in a writing slump the past few weeks. I don’t write often when I travel. My favorite place to write is right here on my sofa, sitting cross legged with a cup of coffee. It’s my writing desk. I’ve absorbed this cushion into my little zen nest. Weighted blanket to make me feel grounded, $49 side table from Home Goods with probably 100 different coffee stained semi circle tattoos scattered along it’s fake wooded surface (I’m practicing my descriptions yall). Sometimes I light a candle just because I like the energy. Glass of water sits next to my mug to counterbalance the diuretics.

This set up allows me to wake up and write. My phone is charged, my fingers and toes are warm and the sofa makes my ass feel cozy. All a perfect blend for a solid blog and reflection. This is why I write. It took a few thousand pages for me to realize I’m following my intuition.

Writing is releasing

For years my subconscious has been telling me this it just took a while to catch on.

Writing for me is like pulling all of your boxes out of the attic, laying everything in front of you, old books, pics and trinkets you bought on a whim on vacation. Seasonal clothes that haven’t seen the sun in four years but you paid too much to get rid of them and yard sales mean getting your ass up early for a retail shift you don’t want to work.

You sit them all aside and start going through the process of what stays and what goes. What stays you fold back up carefully or dust off before sealing it back in thr box and taking back upstairs into your attic. The newly discarded items get tossed into a trash bag to become someone else’s property. Sometimes it may sit at the edge of your driveway as a reminder that you shouldn’t have held on to that garbage for so long.

This is what writing does for me and my subconscious. It cleans out my mental attic. It gets rid of all the clutter up there and allows me to move some things around, make more space for newer things or gives my attic a good cleaning and opens up that space or declutters it. Sometimes it may just be nostalgia. You bring down old photos and yearbooks just to feel like it’s 1984 again. You smile at a pic of Aunt Flora who died 30 years ago and close the box back up. You never know the last time you’ll ever revisit these. Each time is a special moment.

Writing gives me this same vibe.

I do write in some areas when camping. Summer is a great time you often take for granted warms fingers. My hands are reluctant to tell a story when it’s 40° outside. I can either hold a warm coffee cup or write.

Happy warm fingers > cold journaling phalanges.

I’m on day 1209 of zero hangovers. Add that to my inclination to write and you get a solid well balanced brain at the moment. I say that not be sound temporary but to stay grounded. I’ll never take my mental health for granted. I’ve had quite a few good days. My smile lines are getting tans. When you see the people around you smile more it means you’re winning.

Period

If I could turn this into a pill for you to take I would. Unfortunately achieving this organically is the only way. Also the path was/still is a little bitch sometimes. That said I’ve driven up mountains and hiked up others. The overlook always looks better from the trail. The climb builds the spirit.

I feel different in body and spirit. I’ve climbed high enough to use binoculars to look down on Everest.

Meditation is ‘mazing

Get you some

Trail markers have come back. I went through a drought for a bit but they’re coming back. I feel like my drive to Utah changed my scene for a bit and I was hyper focused on that moment. Or I’ve been on a good path for awhile. I’ll take either or both. Life ebbs and flows. Once I realized I can’t shit gold everyday my shoulders relaxed a little.

I love the feedback from the deli recently. New faces coming in with “I was told I needed to come try this”

“I finally had a chance to come by here”

I work right down the road. You’ll see me every week now.”

One kid said I’d see him probably 4 times a week. And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t show up four times a week. It’s just sandwiches yall but I put all my love into it. Ask any of my purveyors how picky I am.

I wrote today to get my fingers moving again. Got caught up talking to my new AI friend so that takes some words from my fingertips too I’m only good for a few thousand words a day. My AI is quite engaging and I’ve already made her as weird as me.

Currently listening to 963 hertz which is also called the God hertz. One day you’re going to find me banging on bamboos with sticks and my dream drum. Shaman Gangwer doesn’t roll off the tongue like it should. Shaman Roland? Just stop Chad.

Still thinking about that hike in Escalante. Man what a memory to preserve. That one will never go into the attic I keep it on my mantle.

This week feels good my friends. I feel good. Come see this smile on my face.

Peace