We set our boundaries and we write our narratives. If we are awake and aware, foster the desire to do so, that is. Writing your own narrative means you know what the end of the story looks like so you sit down to write it, then everything happens, or nothing happens, and your story looks different from the one you set out to create when you arose, but when you slide your tired body beneath one thin sheet between concrete walls that keep out the heat, you are satisfied. There’s another story coming in a dream and another that wakes up with you, that you take with you everywhere.
The narrative begins when you know there is no more energy left to give to fear, worry, anxiety, uncertainty. All your energy now belongs to the unknown, beyond your boundary walls, your fear markers. There’s no time left for fear because it’s never been kind to you.
And there’s no time left for an even keel, so if you thought you’ve gone fast, go faster. Throttle up, feel the bow lift out of the water, there’s no seat belt to strap you in, so you fly along and you notice your knuckles aren’t white, they are folded in your lap like a prayer, and you ask for everything to happen and the awareness to take it all in and remember every second–remember every tattoo needle cherry breaking baby’s head crowning lug nut knuckle smashing first day of school sore throat screaming that was the world cup or a fight about the kids the last dollar is gone waking up alone boot camp mug shot sand in your shorts blood on your sheets first paycheck spent your name on the byline compound fracture falling out of a treehouse first deer kill first date first sext burning your fingers on a candle flame–what will you do to remember it all and treasure it all and everything yet to come?
If you ever thought you worked hard and worked up a good sore sweat or had a bad sunburn, if you think you wrote a great lyric, took too many shots of frostbite tequila, if you ever thought you slept hard, wept hard, gave at the office, if you believe you’ve moved the home run walls back, move them back farther because I’m betting everything is right where you left it, right there in the middle, somewhere in the center of our human experience. Sometimes you gotta feel wrung out, your soul muscles aching so bad that you flop down on the bed too tired to breathe. Whatever you’re doing, do it harder because a nice even keel isn’t living, it isn’t writing. It’s just waiting patiently for your name to be called. The doctor will see you now and prescribe something for your pain.