Breaking Bad’s Barrier

I’m at a loss on what to write about tonight, so perhaps I’ll start with the weather:

It rained like crazy today. Oh, but then the sun broke through. For a moment. Then it vanished. I recall it raining a bunch more. And oddly enough the sun came again. But not to fear, it’s raining now.

In Western Washington, we call this Tuesday.


It’s weird to admit; I’m uncomfortable with calling myself a writer. The word is a too-tight brown, faux leather jacket from Goodwill. I want it so badly to fit, but it doesn’t. So inevitably it’ll wind up back on a coat hanger for the next person to try.

I remember feeling this same way early on in my counseling career. Only it wasn’t a coat, but a mask. One of those super creepy ex-President masks a bank robber wears to conceal their identity in movies.

The hardest part of it all had to do with being me, day in and day out, flaws and all.

Mostly because I didn’t know how to make mistakes without beating the ever-living shit out of myself. And also because I had an expectation that I needed to know everything.

Pushing myself to be perfect in that way caused me to neglect the things I needed most. Things like compassion for myself, as well as appreciation, love, and forgiveness. Seeing perfectionism this way makes it crystal clear how much we lose out on when being perfect is the aim.

I do believe my desire to be a brilliant writer, however well-intentioned, is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

In that case, if perfect writing isn’t the star I’m shooting for, what is? Well, I can honestly say I don’t know. And the idea that I don’t kind of scares me.

As I often ask the people I work with to do; I need to get comfortable in the unknown and the not knowing.

And perhaps that’s what’s needed here; to throw out the rules and the knowns.

To blow through the tombs of the embalmed. To leap into the air, and step on the backs of the beetles and bumbles. You know what I’m talking about; Let’s go! Higher, to a place when time is an herb, and to a space where sense is money. To the spaces between words. To bounce! From letter to letter, across the page. We’ll go – Boing, boing, boing. Watch out! For the h, the t, and the l, they did it to me. They’ll do it to you. Tickle you to the ground. It’s fun, don’t you see?

I do. I do.

Love,
Jaclynn

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