When she had hair.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of being introduced.
I sat in front of a small audience while someone read about “my work” intending to capture their attention.
This was not the first time another has set the stage before I addressed a crowd, but it was the first time that “my work” was so unarguably all mine. Dancing, writing, meditating, blogging, this is how I make my way in the world. Some of these activities pay, most do not, but I get by.
Hearing another affirm that my existence is entirely what I’ve made it, felt, for some reason, entirely inconceivable. It was as if my secret desires and solitary aspirations were finally being recognized as actualities. Kelsey Blackwell is a full-time creative. Wait, how did that happen?
Riding this wave of affirmation, I awoke this morning bursting with ideas to make “my work” more fabulous, more important, more lucrative, starting with this blog.
Where to begin? SEO? An actual logo? More categories across the nav bar? And for that matter, what about all the things that need to be done? Why stop with writing projects? Don’t I need to go to the store? Should I throw in a load of laundry …
Naturally, this led to complete overwhelm. I slept in, started the day with a cookie, and went on a walk. Continue reading
My body tingles with possibility.
The divine or devastating feels at my fingertips.
Perched on the wing of a plane, pointed peaks below, I’m weighing my options. The wind, the sun, the loud whir of aliveness, it’s all so overwhelmingly fabulous. Perhaps it’s time to leap?
January was my self-given deadline to make a career choice. Left or Right? That is, a salary, benefits, M-F schedule, or freedom, choice, and the uncharted?
For most of 2015, the dreaded question consumed all thought. You know, the one we all toil with at some point during our existence: Why am I here? What is my life’s purpose?
Just writing that word and I can feel a tightening in my chest, a constriction in my throat. There’s a desire to open another screen and let myself move on to some other necessary project: email, Facebook, Spotify, would somebody call me?
Unlike my best friend who follows an actual budget and adjusts accordingly when necessary (imagine!), I’ve taken a more ‘it will all work out approach,’ to financial planning.
With trepidation I’ve checked my account balance either to be relieved or completely panicked by what is revealed. An inability to “show myself the money” has allowed my imagination to generate all kinds of horrors. What if can’t make rent this month? Do I have enough money for food? When did I last pay my cell bill?
It hasn’t been pretty.
This is the year I will be 80 years old, if I am lucky.
What might the grey-haired, wiser me say to the internally awkward-fawn, 34 year-old me? I thought about the qualities this older self might possess: gentleness, kindness, contentedness, and wrote a letter (using real pen and paper) from this place. What poured out surprised me.
There was so much love, so much heart, like receiving a letter from my grandmother. The praise and overwhelming use of terms of endearment made me question if I should published the letter at all. Would it be considered self-centered and conceited? Who am I to offer any advice? But I’ve decided to share what came forth because it’s honest, and I hope inspires others to tap in to that older, wiser self who loves unconditionally and kinda knows stuff.
Here it goes!