In the seasons of my writing career, this appears to be the winter. I don’t feel like writing.
Seeing patients? Yes. Hanging out with the kids? Yes please! Singing? Very much so.
So why don’t I want to write? I could. There are innumerable topics I could write about.
But I don’t want to, much like my 5 year-old stamping her feet.
And I don’t want to because, on some level at least, I am starting to feel that it’s all been written.
Every book I open, old or new, is merely a different perspective on what is. And ultimately, it keeps boiling down to the same thing: accept where you are and get on with it.
There’s no umming and ahhing about changing a situation; there’s no disgruntled face at what has, or what is, happening. There is simply acceptance.
It’s the same message that keeps coming back to me.
Acceptance of what is, whether it’s a person, a situation, a place, or a thing.
In a talk by BK Shivani, she talked about how we are so ready to say “love you!” at the end of a call to our loved ones. She reasons that perhaps what we should be saying is “I accept you.”
It made me think of all the things I accept:
I accept that I live in Kenya.
I accept I’m not a trapeze artist.
I accept that I eat a lot of sandwiches.
I accept that it’s raining more.
And what if I then did the opposite, and changed them to “I love”?
I love that I live in Kenya.
I love I’m not a trapeze artist.
I love that I eat a lot of sandwiches.
I love that it’s raining more.
Because, since everything we accept is a choice, we can choose to love it too.
I accept that my harmonium is second-hand.
I love that my harmonium is second-hand.
In fact, it is very strongly the latter.
I love that my harmonium is second-hand, because of who owned it before me. Yes, it's always about the "why".
And I can do that with every single thing that I accept in my life.
And suddenly, with one fell swoop, I am really, really, really, loving my life.
