Autumn has arrived in my kitchen. Can you see the shadows and the reflections?
The birth phase of care-free Spring and the youthful energy of young-adult Summer have led me to the nostalgic and “time doesn’t stand still”, Autumn.
The death of winter has not yet come. Dreams are alive, just fading into colorful prismatic displays on the trees in the hills, mesmerizing me into a fantastical trance where I once again accomplish nothing, or so I think.
Negativity surrounds me, yet hope lightens my load as I write from the kitchen.
Evening’s sun rays light up my decor. Chosen colors of blue, white, and orange encourage me to share inspiration from a simple photo taken as I attempted to fend off sadness.
Who writes from their kitchen? I do. Somehow, the spirit of life brightens the space where my heart lives. My memoir speaks from the kitchen. The memoir that I have not yet written, and may never write.
There are pieces of me, in segments of 300 words or less, scattered, fragmented, and disjointed in my documents folder. All of which could be completed and shared with the world.
I keep writing, searching for that perfect view. I don’t stop. I keep living and writing more. It doesn’t feel right. So I just keep writing. However, I just may have captured my thoughts, raw and unfiltered, once again. The perfect piece to describe how I feel, today.
Happy Fall and Grace to all!
©Erika K Rothwell
Decide who you are, do the work, and then just be. Stop discouraging yourself. Yes, the world is flooded with information. We have too much and too many of everything.
Yet, another flower blooms in the garden outside my window. A morning glory.
Reminding me that the world needs you. It needs your blossoming self. You add to the colors of the landscape of life. We all have so much to offer, yet many of us prefer to hide our lamps under a blanket of insecurity believing what we have is not worthy to be seen or has been seen already.
This is the humility of the creative introvert, but it will get you nowhere. How do I know? Because I was you. I spent many years creating but not sharing. My light did not shine because I would not allow it to.
I hid it where only I could see it. And that was not selfless.
You see, I was too concerned with self. What would others think? Who am I to think anyone would be interested in anything I had to offer?
My ego could not take the beating. The imagined beating, that is. I created the struggle in my own mind. When I was able to release my ego, and know that I am I for a reason outside of myself, I was able to not only create but share…share openly…share authentically.
The path I now follow allows me to appreciate each new bloom I find along the way. Only from emerging from the blanket I comfortably wrapped myself in, could I see the magnificence of others through the eyes of freedom.
I entreat you, let your creativity bloom. Show your glory. Let yourself free.
© Erika K Rothwell
Love your messy truth – It’s beautiful! Your truth is not ugly. Believe in the beauty of your truth.
Frame your point of reference in grace and acceptance. And allow yourself to be reborn.
The birth process can be visually messy. Yet we find ourselves in awe of the beauty of new life.
In fact, the birth of anything is a messy process. Our lives are also generally messy, our pasts littered with indiscretions and uninvited challenges. But to accept oneself through it all is courageous and beautiful.
Truth is where the beauty begins. Embrace authenticity. Find truth within yourself and share it with the world. Trust in the process. Do not deny yourself by denying your inward truths.
As the tight bud of a flower unfurls its petals, unguarded and opening to the possibilities, we must expose our deepest selves, providing the seeds of tomorrow.
Denying that we hold these seeds only leads to an unfulfilled life and a timeline of “what ifs?”
Joyfully release these seeds, for holding onto them too tightly will not spread the beauty.
More importantly, only in the acceptance of our deepest truths are we allowed to gaze upon the beauty of others.
© Erika K Rothwell
The amount of light entering our world is only one factor in what we see. How we make use of the light to color our vision is what truly matters.
We are all taught that light destroys the darkness, as easy as a flick of the light switch. However, at times, the light surrounding us is dimmed and muted casting a romantic shadow over our world, as discovered in this writer’s world.
My amateur photographs display the difference in morning light versus evening light. Both showcase the brilliance of nature. The choice is light. The difference is color.
My wish is that you make use of light to showcase the colors you choose to display. For it is in your authenticity, a unique spectrum is created.
©Erika K Rothwell
I wrote something dishonest today. Not the typical lie you would imagine. But it came to me, my heart was not connected to what I wrote. I typed the words, I read the words, but in the end, I did not believe the words.
So, here I am speaking my truth with a question. Why do we work against ourselves and sometimes stop speaking (or writing) our truth?
We know how to reach for authenticity but at times life’s unexpected forces drag us down the path of necessity. Once we learn to surrender that genuine connection, we slowly lose the energy necessary to support our dreams and our creativity.
What if we woke every morning infused with energy to create our dreams? What if we had trouble closing our eyes at night because we could hardly wait to wake and get back to living. Living, not existing. That is authenticity. Recognize when you are moving away from it.
Because hope does not promise instant gratification, rather than struggle with the words to express positivity, I will wait. The energy I work against is confusion or simply congestion in my head. Sharing a joyous heart today may not be the answer.
Perhaps it is the outside environment that weighs me down. Or possibly the work I did this morning on my memoir. Recognizing the pain in the process sometimes requires a pause. And another cup of tea.
-Erika K Rothwell