I left college after a year and a half, recognizing I had no idea what I was doing there.
What the hell did I want to do with the rest of my life? Damned if I knew. I so loved the learning going on, but for what purpose? That’s where I was stumped.
So one night, when I had a paper due in less than 12 hours and I hadn’t even started thinking about how I would write it, the anxiety came to a head. I called my mother and said, “I have to leave.”
She understood. My Dad thought I was insane for leaving with the scholarships I had in place. I took a leave of absence – I didn’t withdraw…not then anyway.
My mother and grandmother showed up two days later with boxes and had me packed up in less than an hour. I am still amazed at their feat, almost twenty years later. Why couldn’t I just write that damn paper like that?
Well, wouldn’t you know. I can now. It’s an art form, really. It takes time to cultivate. It’s equal parts practice and fuck-it.
I finished my bachelor’s degree when my oldest child was four years old and I was pregnant with my second child. I completed my master’s degree, with a 15 year old, a 10 year old, and a five year old, as a single mother.
The art of writing something (good) at the last minute – of focusing so specifically and intently that the impulse to include this aspect and that point and oh, that other amazing thing you read just when you need it – is extremely useful. And it happens every time.
I expect it to. And so it does.
A flow occurs. Oh, the flow. That’s what I hadn’t learned how to tap into. I get it now. I cherish it.
That’s what my mother and grandmother knew that I hadn’t figured out yet. How to access that flow. The flow is also equal parts practice (of letting it in) and fuck-it. Fuck it! Let’s get this done. Fuck it! I’m going to write this as best I can right now. Fuck it! I’m going to live right here in this very moment and make the best of it.
The fuck-it flow. Precious. Liberating. Productive as all hell.
Love and light,
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