What's True For Me Right Now
As I start to write my second ever Substack post, I feel tingling in my chest that spreads to my face, and down my arms. Nervous and excited flutters. A wonderful sense of possibility in not knowing what will be written.
i n h a l e … e x h a l e
After I posted my first post last week, I noticed how different it felt from posting something on Instagram / Facebook. On Instagram, I feel preoccupied with how many likes and new follows I’m getting from a post. I barely even register who is doing the liking and following. It’s the numbers themselves I care about: 100 hearts, 2500 views. Good. But it’s not enough. There’s a rushed, near-frantic energy I have, quick judging of my post as a success or failure, and then already onto the next one. Whew. Even recalling it, I’m feeling anxious and tight.
i n h a l e … e x h a l e
In contrast, I think maybe twenty people read my Substack post. I know every single one of them. I felt pleasure picturing each of them reading my words. A part of me still cringed after publishing it, because did I even say anything meaningful? I barely said anything, compared to the maelstrom of ideas I have inside of me. I hope I didn’t waste their time.
But then, four people said reading my post inspired them to write and share their writings more! Okay, that’s awesome. That’s actually the coolest outcome I can think of. Because what if this is a movement? What if we’re divesting from those data-mining social media platforms of mass distraction, and we’re reclaiming our attention? Putting more thoughtfulness into our creation and consumption? Making the written word intentional, sacred even?
I pause. I breathe in and out, slowly, with depth. Back to the body.
What is true for me, right here, right now?
What’s true is that I want my writing to presence me more deeply.
I yawn. My body registers and expresses its tiredness.
What’s true is that I want my writing to presence others more deeply, too.
It’s very difficult for me to read and write slowly, aware of my breath, fully in my body. I’m afraid of slowing down. On a subconscious level, I operate with the belief that more words and more content = more knowledge. More knowledge = more wisdom. And there isn’t enough time for everything I want to know and everything I want to create, so I need to rush to fit as much as I can in. And/or, I become paralyzed with the hopelessness of nothing ever being enough, and thus don’t do anything at all.
It sounds so ridiculous when I look at it written out like that. And yet, it’s a belief that has had a tight grip on me. It’s a belief that reflects the larger capitalist culture we’re immersed in. Quantity over quality. Scarcity of time. The cult of productivity. Not enough-ness.
Deep breaths.
I don’t know what the future will hold. I don’t know what magic combination of things I create and consume will lead to success and wisdom and empowerment. But what’s true is that the state of awareness I’m in when I do so matters. And what I have to say matters.
And I’m glad to be here. Thank you for being here, too.
<3 Akemi
It was so startling, yet healing, to read a process that I'm realizing so often mirrors my own. Action (expression), then re-action (usually doubt), then response to re-action (grounding in body by noticing body sensations and the breath), then epiphany (deeper truths emerging), then action (expression) this time with a re-action of affirmation (all is ok). I'm glad you're here too, and that Miriam introduced you into my life.
Your writing process is a living, breathing, experiential illustration of your living process. It's healing and helpful to witness how you move through it.