Well, me. I do.
Even when I suspect the material is going to set off interior alarm bells and probably pummel my central nervous system—I make notes, read and get ready to write. I stock the cupboards with Milk Chocolate covered in Sea Salt. I do stomach crunches. I stand for ten minutes in Crane pose like Ralph Macchio did in the Karate kid to prepare. This allows me to achieve the balanced Zen state and clear mental focus that is astonishingly productive in record time.
Fine. I confess Chocolate First Aid is all I got.
Let's back up. An opportunity to write about a subject that I felt deep sadness and shame about came knocking on my door. I didn't look through the peephole or take time to think about what the process would involve—I said yes, and got a bunch of incredibly helpful ducks (friends, books, essays) in a row. I told myself, "Fortune sometimes favours the foolhardy" and "All systems are go."
Because this possibility felt like clouds parting and an angel with a trumpet saying, "Do not be afraid."
So I moved toward the sunlight.
And still: ouch.
And fear: I held my breath.
Also: mild insomnia, rough sleeps, bad dreams.
And more: I began to doubt the piece would be completed in time.
Since I had the good luck to work with considerate and insightful editors, the essay is mostly wrapped up. I'm feeling chuffed about the stage this piece is at. (This mood should last about 24 hours until I go over it again.)
As I worked, I noticed an old pattern. No appetite, no appetite, no appetite and then BOOM: hunxious. Never hangry.
So I went searching for several encouraging, inspiring, soothing, motivating, heartening items from InternetLand to gather here in this post while I ate and adjusted my blood sugar levels. The world is full of truly generous souls. People who give their time or offer their talent to move us all forward. This is our primary purpose in life--according to my dad and the Dalai Lama--helping others.
Experience has shown me that is this way—only by applying patience, compassion and tenderness will we heal the wounded parts of ourselves and our communities—together.