It has been a long, dry stint. I've forced words on to the paper, and I've wracked up the pages from the effort; but the last bit has been wrong, all wrong. And I'm only halfway through. Who wants to continue in wrongness?
Then last night it stormed. The house was quiet and the skies were certainly not. I sat in the kitchen in the dark, motionless, save for breaking off a piece of chocolate now and then from the bar to my right. Maybe it wasn't just like this, maybe it's just how I want to remember it; but it seems like at the very moment the skies unleashed their water something unclogged in my brain and everything came rushing out.
My friend Suzy pulled out the stop. She said, "You're not really saying what you want to be saying." And like she was brave enough to tell me the hard thing, I was suddenly brave enough to scrap what was wrong, despite the time it had taken me, and start rebuilding the right way.
There have been a few turning points in my life where I've fooled myself into thinking I was moving onward, when really I was treading water. I've not been able to see this, and I've been lucky enough to have someone tell me so. This is not so much to say that there's no benefit in trudging forward, because certainly perseverance is good; but that to be true is the most important. You have to be true to yourself, and you have to take a slap to the face when it is handed out in love.
In the morning, you don't feel the sting. Today the earth is washed clean and the air has been cooled and the trees are dancing, watered and refreshed; and I'm sitting in my kitchen once more, basking in the breeze, excited to be typing anything again, but most especially what feels like the truth.