I welcomed myself to the edge of nowhere; a place we all know and don’t want to go. Last week, I went to that edge. I jumped off the edge and fell into my own core. So, what do I mean by this? I spent three weeks streaming words through my fingers like a madwoman. I had no time for the perfectionist in my head. What space was there for the dream of better writing? I needed 50,000 words by November 30, 2020, and I started November 7 the same year.
So, what is the edge of nowhere? It’s the space between the habits and setbacks that construct the old you and the possibilities which fashion the new you. The self-burning flame consumes the Phoenix in us all, giving birth to a new creation. What a terrifying place, full of ghosts of the past and visions of the future, at once too vast and too small to fit into it. When you’re in burnout, though, just trying to put words on a page, that doesn’t matter. A week later it certainly does.
I’m still shaking off the ashes of what came before. I still at times battle with the perfectionist that didn’t want to finish the draft. She didn’t write over 50,000 words in three weeks. I burned in those weeks. I became someone new. Well, I am never going back.