I hit "publish" on Sunday's post and up popped up the writing that disappeared off the screen only an hour before. It popped up as a draft. Apparently I did not know where to look for it, although I could swear that I did look there. Maybe I went in to re-write too quickly. Maybe I panicked. Nothing good ever comes of panic. Maybe it just is what it is.
I reread it and looked longingly at it and thought about adapting the published post and then just decided to let it rest. Maybe someday I'll work it into another piece of writing about dancing with "what might have been," or maybe I'll work it into some other writing when something else that might be triggered by that story comes up for me, but for now I will leave it in the queue as a reminder of something.
I'm still not quite sure what the lesson is, but I suspect there are many lessons in this.
And there certainly are a lot of maybes in this writing.
Maybe there's a lesson around maybe.
I originally began this writing piece moments after I published Sunday's writing and discovered the draft that, until then, had remained hidden. But I decided to let this one rest also. As I was thinking about today's writing, this little beginning kept scratching at the edges of my consciousness. It could be that because I have a long day at work today, I wanted to see if I can write quickly around this because it's already started and in process (in me, as well as on the screen) or it could be something else. I began to catalog the possibilities but stopped short when I realized. There it is again, in different words, but there nonetheless. Maybe.
The Oxford Dictionary defines maybe in two ways. As an adverb and as a noun. As an adverb, it means "perhaps, possibly." And as a noun, it means "a mere possibility or probability." Mere. The same dictionary offers these synonyms for mere: trifling, meager, bare, trivial, paltry. There is nothing "mere" about possibility.
Possibility is what gives creativity form. It is what makes potential real. And in potential is power. Just look at the word itself. Potent. From the Latin. "Having or wielding force, authority, or influence." That's from Merriam-Webster. "Powerful, able, capable, possible." Another dictionary takes us back to where we began. With possibility.
There just might be some power in the word "maybe." ("There just might be" is another way to say "maybe", by the way.) Normally, when I think of the word "maybe," I think of it as lacking precision or decision. There may be power also in that space of "not yet." And, of course, it is the power of possibility, of potential, of spaciousness. Of choice.
I feel like I've stumbled onto another dusty box in the attic. I've just peeked inside. It looks full to me. Full of tiny treasures that will take time to go through, examine, and value. I gather it up and allow it to rest with the other artifacts of this Summer of Self-Love exploration.
Long days at work limit the time I have on those mornings to luxuriate over this writing and allow what comes up to rest a bit before continuing. But, maybe, that's as it should be. Some things take longer to rest than others. And they come back into consciousness when they want to be worked again.
So maybe I'll...
The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.