Change of Rythm

Honesty

In truth, I had a crisis—I suddenly couldn’t force or push myself through or past it. Something inside me demanded a stop. It had been a long time coming, several years, in fact, of me just wanting to read. I didn’t finish one book before starting another. You don’t need to be a shrink to understand that: it was about escaping my life, and perhaps also escaping myself.

So imagine me, for years, reading yet still pushing myself to do what I had always done. What once brought me joy no longer did. I can’t explain it in other words: I was in a crisis. My body had told me, but I hadn’t listened. This year my soul slowly, but surely, started to reach back into me, because I was out of touch with myself. It tried to make me listen, and when I didn’t, one day I realized I simply couldn’t do all the things I used to do. My body wouldn’t take me there—quite literally. It allowed me to go to work, but I was present only in body, not in spirit.

I started writing—first letters, and I found friends all over the globe. Then I began flow‑writing again, as I once did regularly. Something inside became eager: Let’s make a blog—put it out there. At that time it felt impossible. To make myself that vulnerable? Why? Yet something told me: You must do it now. It took persuasion, but I gave in and created my blogspace. I invited one trusted person. It felt safe.

I wore my frantic writing suit, and it fit—it was what I had to wear. I wrote every day: morning and night, letters, blog, flow, work, and then started over. Now, I feel this suit no longer fits. I’m not as frantic, and my words are no longer standing in a crowded line in a narrow passage waiting to spring loose. The queue is still there, but they wait and behave. The narrow passage has grown into a large hall, and when I listen, I hear the sound of friendly souls present and waiting.

So I need to change the frantic suit into one more relaxed, where the writer in me can once again hold and turn the words over, pondering the exact choice for this or that sentence.

For a while, I have been writing fragments, editing quickly, and publishing in the name of capturing the rawness of the first thought that came to me each morning—before second‑guessing it.

Now I feel a change coming. My new relaxed suit may make my small contributions to this very large sea of writing souls fewer, but I am still swimming—just in another suit. 😊

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This piece marks a change in my rhythm. For a long time I published raw fragments daily, capturing the ache of the first thought before it dissolved. Now I feel myself moving into a calmer, more intentional space—less frantic, more spacious. The words still come, but they wait differently, and I am learning to listen in a new way.