entanglement

the messy business of romanticizing your life

I started this draft on May 6 — got so far as the title and closed Substack for the next *checks notes* almost 6 months.

It do be like that sometimes.

I’ve taken to the physical notebook lately, offline maxxing if you will. But something keeps calling me back to writing, despite the many excuses I give myself.

What will I write about?

Who cares?

What do I even have to say?

Am I ready? Will I ever be?

I’ve been doing a lot more reading than writing. About writers, no less. Semi fiction. A deviation from my usual self-improvement practice. But it’s fitting for this season. One where I listen more to resistance instead of rejecting it. It’s not for lack of trying - I’ve simply come to the conclusion that it doesn’t work to fight against. That instead I’m just wasting precious time.

Now I’m trying to get better at leaning into curiosity. To move quickly towards adjustments that make me feel slightly more in flow. To follow excitement, to trust my instincts and to stop worrying so much about having a plan. To be more consistent with the little things and less calculated with the bigger ones. To know more about which direction to move than where I’m going.

It’s a work in progress, it always is. I fail a lot. But it feels better to try than to endlessly wrestle against myself.

What was the point of this? I don’t know. I don’t care. I didn’t sit down with a plan, didn’t edit, didn’t even come up with a title. But you know what? I finished something, and that’s good enough for me.