Just...let go.

Or...I don't know wtf I am doing.

[image caption: photo of the sun peeking over a brick apartment building with naked trees and grey skies in the background. Taken by the author 1/2020]

Hello my starshine loves.

I have been…I was gonna say meditating but that would be 198% bullshit cause I hate meditating. Redo. I have been freaking the whole shit out. I am an anxious shitbucket of weird feelings and being not quite sure about anything.

I should confess something. But first, if you’re new um…..I am an unrepentant over sharer and shitbucket full of feelings. So buckle up babe.

Ahem. Y’all, I confess I am at my best as a creative person when I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I’ve spent YEARS trying to correct this about myself. Studied, I’ve taken courses, done organizational shit, I’ve used software etc etc. I like many of us was taught that to be the best at what we do, we HAVE to be organized and know what we’re doing and where we are going.

In a lot of life that is great. Awesome. I love structure. Shit y’all sometimes I make spreadsheets to self-sooth.

That said, I know myself well. I know what it feels like when I’m at an optimal level of creation. That came out weird but…

Look. One of the things I can say is the actual real goddamn truth is this. You know what you can do. Full stop. You know. You might not know in your front brain. You might be anxious about it. You might have been gaslit about it your entire life.

Look at me.

You. Know.

Listen. There are few things harder to trust than ourselves. So many of us have been taught directly, by how society treats us etc that nothing we say is the truth. For folks like me it has meant things like:

  • Being taught that my emotions are/were never appropriate.

  • Being taught that what I’ve said about my sexuality and genders was, “a phase”, “just my imagination”.

  • Being taught that my ideas were weird.

The fallout from that has been, frankly catastrophic. I spent most of my adult life, just trying to be okay with being/feeling human. Think about that. For someone who is by nature very emotional. I am. I am as I call it (usually) fondly, a shitbucket of feelings. I love hard. I worry. I’m a flappy handed, flailing weirdo with too many feelings. I am. That is who I’ve always been and the methods of suppression it took to squeeze that out of me for so long, left marks.

I’m going to tell you something else.

I trust you.

I trust you to know when you are good. And I’m not talking about if you sold books or art this week or if you got interaction or shares. I’m talking about that feeling we’re told not to hold on to.

That feeling when, your gut, maybe it comes from your bowels or your heart chakra or where ever you feel it, it is the little voice that says,


Or the voice that is like, I am fucking excellent.

You remember it? Do you tell it to shut up because you’re a grown up and it is conceited and all the other bullshit you’ve been taught about your most private self?

We are not supposed to trust that we know how we work. We are always supposed to be “improving” or whatever.

Rather than coming at it from the angle of, well you aren’t doing it right, what happens when we say, fuck it?

A large part of my few years of fails in the context of my creative life, has been filled with me trying to correct my course. I tried to teach myself to stay in the lane of a successful freelancer. I tried to schedule myself and my writing to death. I tried essaying in a um, preset sort of manner along with trying to form my voice into something sellable beyond my trusted editors. I hit a lot of walls. I cried a lot. I felt like the worst piece of shit on the planet.

I failed.

I failed hard.

I didn’t fail because I didn’t try. Or because I wasn’t doing my best, nor because I was just not good enough. I failed because frankly, that ain’t my fuckin lane.

It is not my lane.

What happens when we try to force ourselves into other folks lanes? Mother fucking car accidents. My failure to do the things I told myself I should have been excelling at, was a series of car crashes.

So now we’re here.

I know my lane.

That said, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Folks have asked what I plan on.

Am I writing a new book? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Am I going to launch the second patreon I thought about? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Am I going to….¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .

And that’s good. It is fine.

I know and understand who I am. I am at my finest when I just let it fly. Start writing. Just start doing whatever it is my brain wants to do. Does that mean I always come up with something amazing? Shit no. But it does mean, I’m on the right path.

At nearing 43 years old, I finally understand and accept that this is just me. This is how I work. This is how I make art that feels good to me.


Now for you my dearest starbabes. Listen. Sometimes, you just gotta let go and do that shit you do. I trust you. Go do your thing.