I'm in a Rut. I Know. Get Excited.
I’ve never been good at winding, soft lead-ins to my blog posts. I like to go straight for the truth, then build out from there. So let’s get to it: I’m in a rut. Like a Capital R, in-your-face, denial is more than a river in Egypt RUT. It’s been going on all year long and I’ve actively been faking it. “A rut, oh no, I’ve just been really focused on my family and my mom’s health this year. That’s taken a lot of my mental energy.” or “What rut? Work has just been really busy this year and needed a lot of my attention and energy.” Lies we tell ourselves.
It’s not like I’ve been curled up in bed all day watching Bravo (disclaimer: that sounds amazing and I sort of hope you’re reading this from that exact place). I’ve been doing all the things: morning workouts every.darn.day, calling my mother, loving my friends, giving my best to my amazing job, talking to strangers (please try it; it’s magical). All. The. Things. But throughout all of this, I can’t help but feel like my energetic cup runneth under. That my creative well has dried up. That my inspirational rocket ship suddenly lost fuel and is coasting on fumes. When did my rocket ship become a cruise ship?
I haven’t written my novel since May. M-A-Y. I’m writing this blog post in December, so that’s like 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 639,470 months. Whoa. I’m not sharing this to “novel shame” myself publicly. I’m sharing this to tell you and the Universe that I am ready. I’m ready to write again. The main character in my novel is a girl named Natalie. I’m sitting in the coffee shop where the novel is based and I can feel Natalie’s energy here. She’s ready to continue her adventure, but she can only move ahead if I put pen to paper. She’s ready and so am I.
We are of nature and in nature. In life, there is a time to plant and a time to harvest. What if what feels like a rut is actually a planting season? I’m closing my eyes now and picturing a gorgeous rolling field ready to be planted. In the middle of the field is a huge tree. The tree is large enough for shade so I can lay down a blanket for a nap or a picnic. It’s tall enough for a treehouse to watch over my field. It’s strong enough for a swing to play. Planting time is a beautiful time. I get to dream up what I want to harvest. Hint: it’s GOOD.
And here’s the thing, the harvest is fun. It’s bright and visible and affirming and Instagrammable. But here’s the other thing, no TEDx Talk, no novel, no blog, no podcast, no fitness journey makes me any more worthy of love, abundance, joy and blessings. Those may be the harvested fruits of my dedication, goals and passions, but there is as much deserving and worthiness in the planting as there is the harvest.
I felt called today to write this (I was planning on a completely different topic). I wrote this entire piece, then accidentally deleted it and immediately re-wrote it again because I just know the words are meant to be shared and you’re supposed to be reading them. If you’re reading this and feeling like you’re in a rut, I invite you to my field. Bring a picnic blanket and a bottle of wine and join me under the tree. There’s more than enough room for us to plant our seeds together. That’s the beauty of imagination: unlimited real estate and the weather is always perfect for planting. I hope you like tree swings.
I can’t end this post without saying this and I hope you’ll read these words out loud with me: I am wildly worthy of love in the ruttiest of ruts. I am incredibly deserving of universal joy in the quiet times. I am calling in the yummiest and most fulfilling abundance in the messiest of middles. Every season is a season of deserving. Every season is a season of worthiness. You are not any more lovable or deserving or worthy of attracting the life you desire during the harvest than you are during planting season. Get excited.
