What Time is it?
Time is a funny thing. It flows. It gets clogged. It comes alive. It feels dead sometimes. It doesn’t make sense. Its hard to understand. And sometimes it just makes sense. Time.
Time. How to measure? How to express? How to conceptualize and understand? Is that the purpose of time? To intellectualize? Maybe time is about living. Maybe time is about now. This moment. This breath. This kiss. This interaction. This loving moment.
Hello, Critic
I’m still scared to say what I want to say. I notice censorship of my thoughts when I journal. When no one else is in the room. I notice the critic show up to tell me to change my words. Make them make more sense. Be more palatable (not sure for who).
And so many times the critic is there, and I don’t even notice it
I don’t recognize it as the critical voice
I see it as the truth
I see it as an objective elder
But it’s not
Just another way to wheezle its way into my brain
And then I am lost again
Thinking I have found the answer
But the answer is deeper than that
The answer is if I keep going
Past whatever it is I don’t even know how to
Describe it
Keep up with its ever-changing alibi and character appropriation
The voice, the energy, the words, the clothing
It keeps changing so I could not describe it to you if I tried
It’s a little game I play
The game of who’s gonna gaslight my feelings today?
Is it going to be before I think it?
Or after I had enough clarity to make the decision?
Or somewhere in between
Or both
I don’t know if I will ever know
Exactly the persona and the texture of this critic and what it has done to me
But
I do know that writing this out
Taking the time to express what it feels like
To constantly have a critic on the scene
To creatively stop, shift or reframe what I am thinking
or saying
or experiencing
It is exhausting
Maybe we need to address the elephant in the room
The critic
Feels good to call you what you are
Feels good to know that I can choose to confront you
To ask you, with love, what is your deal?
Not Just Another Sticky Summer Evening
Never considered myself a writer. Still don’t consider myself a writer. But. I have been consistently writing my thoughts every day for more than 7 years. I think that means I can identify as a writer. And like all new identities that we evolve into, it takes time to fully embrace it. I still feel like an imposter. I still feel like I cannot, with a straight face take on a client. But today, something changed, as they do when we are open.
I was taking my evening mental health walk after both my sister and neighbor declined to join me to eat our feelings at the ice cream shop, I bumped into an old colleague of mine. Even though we haven’t worked together in almost ten years, we always have great conversations and I usually walk away feeling like this world is a better place with her in it.
Anyways, I asked her about a job she posted. She was looking for a copywriter. And it crossed my mind to apply but imposter syndrome got the better of me and I did not apply for the position. But then I saw her on Carrol Street on this sticky summer evening. And as a friend I wanted to know if she found someone suitable for the position.
The next thing I knew I was pitching myself for the gig. And while I know I have the skills for it I do not have the portfolio. She wanted to see what I can do. How fast I can turn around with solid content. She wanted to know I could provide a solid product and friendly service. That I could help her market and sell the product she is building. Something that has been her passion for so many years.
So. As I walked home from my solo ice cream date, I decided to come home and write a blog post about this. And commit to writing a blog post (or at post one dug from the archives) regularly. And to make sure next time someone asks, I can say. Check my blog. You can hire me to write, to consult or help you figure out how you want to be presented online.
Facing Your Biggest Fear
Finally. We made it to the redemption from Egypt. The moment is here. Yet it feels anticlimactic. The name of the Parsha feels like we need to come close to Pharoah to access the abundance and freedom. It feels like we have to first contend with his power before the release.
Mindful Confidence
At the beginning of the Parsha Yehuda approaches Yosef begging for mercy. The end of the Parsha describes how Ya'akov and his children are living prosperously in the land of Goshen. How are these themes aligned? Start with desperation, end off successful, abundant, and happy?
Oily Integration
Oil. What's the deal with oil? There is something special about oil - it penetrates, it infuses flavor, it brings pleasure, it elevates and is compared to the deepest part of the Torah.
Vayishlach
Kislev is the third month of winter season. The time where the warmth of the sun is less felt and seen. We step into our personal work in the long, cold, and dark nights of winter as Hashem's light is less expressed and felt. As much as it is less expressed - we have more access to the essence
Vayeitzei
In the mess of life, harsh realities, and volatile emotion - therein lies the key to showing the greatest light of Hashem. Just like a painter's palette is a mess of colors - it is the path to manifest this beautiful new reality that in-and-of-itself is a masterpiece. Even though it is expressing an image or theme
Chayei Sara
The marriage of Yitzchak and Rivkah represents a fusion of paradox. The union of two words.
Spiritual and physical
Masculine and feminine
Heaven and earth
Soul and body
Creator and created beings
Light and curiosity
Goodness and grounding
We are invited into this cosmic marriage every moment. To birth a new fusion that could never be. To mother the ultimate - the light Moshiach within us all.
Vayeira
Every single word in Torah is important. Every theme. Each Phrase. The syntax and conjugation all have pieces that connect to every one of us in whatever state we find ourselves. We can gain incredible light, support, calm and guidance from the message of the weekly Parsha - which is especially connected to the week that it is in.
