I don’t know what to write about. Not that it makes any difference, because even when I go into an entry “knowing” what I’m going to write, I end up talking about something totally different.
So the initial sense of knowingness is just a doorway, I suppose.
And tonight, my doorway is “I don’t know.”
I’ve been saying that a lot more lately, and being okay with it. “I don’t know.” That was a rough one for me to incorporate… admitting that I didn’t have all the answers.
BECAUSE I AM PRO AT BULLSHITTING ANSWERS. I can legitimately carry on a conversation about nearly any topic and somehow navigate my way through it as if I have at least a basic understanding of what’s going on.
Up until this last year, I always came up with answers… To any question asked. Even the ones I had no right answering. Like… “Jen, what should I do with my hair / with this situation / with my life?”
Puppet Finger Jen was like:
I had zero problem telling other people what they should do. And I had zero problem telling myself what I should do.
All of the shoulds, all of the time. I’ve lived a life where my x-ray vision superpower brain wires got crossed to where I see the potential consequences for every choice.
And so now, when a situation arises and I am offered an opportunity to make a decision for myself or offer guidance to another… I’ve learned to step back from the obsessive consequential thoughts.
And once I do that, I realize that most things aren’t that big of a deal and totally aren’t worth the fine lines in between my eyebrows from my stressed-out scrunch face.
And then I’m in this place of, “I don’t know” or “it doesn’t really matter.”
AND THAT IS A BIG DEAL FOR ME. TO CONTINUE CREATING AND MOVING FORWARD EVEN WHEN I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUDGE I’M DOING.
For years… No, decades, I used this as an excuse not to write. “I don’t know what to write” or “I have too many ideas; I don’t know which to use*” or “I don’t know which genre to write.”
*I still catch myself using this one…
That’s what this post is all about. About a doorway of “I don’t know, but I’m walking through anyway and trusting what’s on the other side.” And that’s what this 365-day road-trip into the unknown is helping me become more and more comfortable with.
Because the known is from the past. It’s limited, and kind of boring. The unknown holds endless potential.
IT IS ALSO UNCOMFORTABLE.
However, I’m learning to find comfort in the discomfort. I feel like a nomad, continually moving forward on my journey before I get too settled in any one place to remain stagnant.
Alright. It’s late. I had a night full of laughter and burps, and I need sleep.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds. None of us do. And isn’t that fudging rad?