#269: Where the Magic Happens
Tell me Iām doing well, and find individual ways to help me do better.
Whenever I post pictures of me having a haircut, my Instagram views go through the roof. The algorithm likes pictures. Pictures of me particularly are important. I had to provide one to Trust and Support this week to start a new account for the writing project. They didnāt believe I was a real person until I provided them with a picture and not just a logo. The irony of this has not been lost on me.
I also got into trouble this week by using the word ānarrativeā in relation to how a current news story is being framed. Having an opinion and being able to see past the way other people construct news stories makes me sound like a conspiracy theorist. Having more engagement and interest in what is going on around me and being able to form measured opinions also makes me a conspiracist.
Why canāt I simply be happy with what I see and hear and leave it at that?
As a storyteller, I find myself imagining an awful lot of things. I wonder, are other authors who write genre work constantly accused of pushing their own narratives for spurious ends? Why is it continuously easier to blame other people for being noisy and confrontational and angry rather than looking at yourself objectively as a starting point? Canāt people think more and judge less?
Some days, it feels like perception is a broken record, the same scratches that everyone sticks on because thatās been the way life has been for decades. My desire now is to look beyond what other people think is sufficient, what counts as enough. It should never be enough to simply accept what you hear and never question the consequences. Crucially, that has to come with objectivity.
It really worries me sometimes how little objectivity exists in reality right now.
Between the last paragraph and now has been three hours, for which I apologise, but it needed to happen. I had to force myself into a HIIT class for the second time this week, and the primal scream 22 minutes in was an absolutely essential means to unlock my energy after a week of battling with this ridiculous cold. The one minute I managed in max heart rate this morning was a fucking triumph.
Then, sitting after dropping the eldest off for work, an idea took me. Iād thought my work was done for the National Poetry Contest, but is now likely one other poem will make it into the mix. I also have the inspiration for the next part of my Exercise collection. Sometimes, you donāt get the opportunity to stop and think objectively about how life has placed you in relation to existence.
Today I am more aware of my mortality than I have been for a long time.
Today is the start of a new chapter. Iāve decided. Weāre drawing a line here.
Letās try this a different way from now on.