“When you are the light you should earn your living through the sharing of insight.”
These words were written on the cover of a navy blue book I had just picked up off the shelf that had the title Unforgettable written on the spine. This happened in a dream, but I was lucid enough to know that as soon as I woke up I should write the words from the cover of that book down—verbatim. So I did . . . in the scribbly scrawl of nighttime ideas that I often wake up to find are incoherent or really not that brilliant in the morning light.
Except this nighttime scribbly scrawl is different. This is a pretty clear memo from my psyche. And I adorably chose to write it down and then hide the piece of paper away in a careless stack and not mention it to anyone or do anything about it for several months. The beauty of messages from myself, though, and perhaps this is true of messages that you get from yourself, too, is that if I don’t listen to them immediately they come dressed in different costumes later on . . . sometimes knocking on my door as the UPS guy, sometimes sitting across from me at lunch as a literary agent, sometimes masquerading as a seemingly crazy person delivering a message to me on the street (yes, this has actually happened to me and I’ll tell you the story in a later post). Then sometimes they come as illness or stasis or tears. Often for me they come as tears. Little liquid memos sliding down my cheeks in times of questioning and praying.
Starting in September my skin started to crawl in that way that skin does when you’ve outgrown your pot . . . when your roots and limbs and leaves and stalks are simply getting too big and it’s time for a bigger container. At first I decided it was because I hated my business and I became immediately stuck and unproductive as a result. To fill up all the time that I suddenly was no longer spending on building and running my business I immediately signed up for an acting class, a Fire Starter session, a personal organizer’s services, coaching, acupuncture, and yoga teacher training. My “stuck” usually looks pretty busy. I’m not so good with sitting with my questions and awaiting answers. I like to do things in the meantime so as to prevent receiving answers too quickly or too clearly. That would be too easy. (Caveat: my compulsive doing-ness has actually proven to be a major asset and I’m truly grateful for my gift of keeping busy while awaiting messages from myself.)
Next I decided what I needed to do was become completely dispensible to my business by eliminating, systematizing, and delegating á la The 4 Hour Work Week(this book is a MUST read.) Then I got completely overwhelmed and sick and couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time. Then I decided I was angry with my mother. Then I decided I was angry with myself. Then I decided I was angry with my business team. Then I gave myself permission to be exactly where I was and do nothing. And then, miraculously, I didn’t need to be stuck anymore.
I found that when I gave myself permission to be where I was, I suddenly was actually able to hear my psychic secretary delivering the memo. I had let myself headstand and read and cry and organize and rage about my need for change and shifting that I was as yet unable to articulate. And because I let myself do all those things, my beautiful little psychic secretary no longer had to disguise herself as the UPS guy or a child on the subway. Instead, it was quiet enough that she could just efficiently walk right up in her perfectly tailored pencil skirt, sexy high heels, crisp white blouse, and sophisticated yet seductive black-rimmed glasses to tell me succinctly, “Kate, it’s now time for a bigger pot. I’ll schedule a replanting for you immediately.” Miraculously, right about this time, I stumbled upon the piece of paper with my morning scribbly scrawl on it once again.
So here I am and here you are and this site is my bigger pot. I’m not 100% sure where I’m going as I carve out this space for my voice, but I do know it’s going to be good. Right now it feels so spacious that it makes me nervous. I have all these pages solely dedicated to me and my insight. It feels selfish and indulgent. It feels presumptuous . . . who am I to “be the light and earn my living sharing insight?” I’m just the perfect amount of scared sh*tless and completely excited to know that I’m onto something.
Welcome to my new pot. Let’s see where we grow from here.