Something I struggle with when it comes to writing is how ideas take shape as they gradually come into focus. This process can span minutes, days, weeks, sometimes months. Some pieces that I’ve published still feel unfinished. There are some pieces that I know I’ll spend my entire lifetime trying to complete.

Clarity emerges as I interact with the external environment - through daily life, in conversations with others, moments of being human. As the shapes start to become less blurry, an urge to write arises - to capture the shape, make it concrete, more real. But as I begin this capturing process, I begin to ask myself questions like:

  • Is this a tweet?
  • Is this a seed?
  • Is this a journal entry?
  • Is this part of an emotional investor update?
  • Where should these ideas live?
  • Who is the audience?
  • Is this too vulnerable?
  • Is this not vulnerable enough?

I start spiralling down a line of questioning that has everything to do with thinking about why anybody would care about what I have to say - and very little to do with why I do.

And so I’ll just state upfront that I’m writing this one for me. And I hope that more of what I write going forward is for me as well.

There’s a sensation that has been poking at me for a long time, one I have never really been able to properly articulate. It hits me at random moments throughout the day - sometimes it’s weaker, and sometimes it’s this force that makes me smile and walk with a certain lightness.

It’s this clicking feeling, where everything suddenly makes sense, or at least, everything feels like it’s going to be okay. It’s not that I have discovered all of the answers to all of my questions, but it’s more like I trust myself to be able to figure them out. In some cases, I feel that I’ll also be okay even if I never do figure them out. I am reminded of the direction that I am travelling in, and despite the occasional rough patches or the thorns I find along the way, I am assured that the path is good.

If there were a recipe for this feeling, its instructions and ingredient list would look something like a heaping load of gratitude, baked with a whole lot of optimism, seasoned with as much love as you have on hand, and a couple sprinkles of joy, contentment, peace - whatever else you may find in the garden of emotional abundance. The meal is always welcome.

When it comes around, I feel a bit unstoppable. It’s as if I’m able to physically grab the tension in my body and the weight on my shoulders with my hands and dispel them with ease, as if they didn’t exist at all. It makes me feel very silly when I realize that I was carrying these things with me in the first place. I always smile and laugh at myself when this happens.

Sometimes it’s when I hear a song that makes me smile. Sometimes it’s when I’m reminded of the people that I love. Sometimes it’s when I’m out, walking around and absorbing the city around me. Sometimes it’s when I’m working by myself out of a cafe on Baldwin. Sometimes it’s when I’ve tried really hard on a project at the climbing gym and lie down to stare at the ceiling. Sometimes it’s when I think about what’s ahead of me. The feeling will land gently in my hands as if it was waiting for somewhere to rest.

When it lands, I am at ease.

“For solemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. It’s easy to be heavy, hard to be light.” – G. K. Chesterton