I wrote about having a falling out with a friend and finding my way back to forgiveness.
In forgiveness, we find the pain of the shattered glass is remembered by the scars it leaves, but the strength gained from those scars makes them both worth the pain and strikingly beautiful as well.
I write about having a falling out with myself and finding my way back to understanding.
It is the 5 am hour and I am writing. I lit a candle, the coffee is brewing it is quiet except for my fingers tapping and the heater making the room comfortable for me. A soft pink blanket is covering my feet. This feels almost idyllic.
Next week at this time there will be a Christmas tree in front of me.
Fifteen minutes ago I discovered the toilet had overflowed sometime after I went to sleep and this morning I plunged it, matter-of-factly, when I noticed the hem of my pants and warm socks were inexplicably saturated in water.
This week the Christmas tree isn’t in its spot and I wonder why I feel content and satisfied. Aren’t things supposed to be perfect, like an Instagram photo of the clutter free living room, everything in enviable feng shui order, cookie cutter offspring leading successful satisfied lives and me with a huge bank account, an adoring partner and a vast array of assorted friends who unwaveringly support every choice I make with a chorus of hurrahs?
That would be satisfaction of a slightly different sort. Perhaps that is a goal for six months from now.
Progress is the new perfection.
Julie Jordan Scott is enjoying writing without her glasses on so she can barely make out what the words say as she writes. She has been revisiting her past writings in order to gain perspective and to learn from the wise one who once wrote from these very same fingers yet have been forgotten, somehow, even in the words’ inherent value.
Interested in working with Julie? Getting to know her? Use the social media links on the side here or text her at 661.444.2735. its the most direct method of contact. She loves hearing from you, even when it feels awkward to write in the expected third person.