it always seems impossible

until it's done.

1. In my writing cabin, I have a sign on the north window ledge that says: “It always seems impossible until it’s done.”

   

2. I’ve thought this about so many things in my life: that it’s impossible, or just not do-able, too big, too scary, nonsensical. But, my soul doesn’t seem to have the same worries as my brain. There are times our brains and physical bodies can’t easily move in the direction of anything, because of that impossible-feeling. But we can usually move one tiny step. One degree in the direction of the impossible.

3. Sometimes, we close our eyes and take a pen in our hands and a blank piece of paper and it feels impossible. We might not even write anything on the paper today. Picking up the pen is the signal we’re showing up anyway, we’re available to move one degree in-the-direction-of. Today, it’s not all of it at once. It’s only moving in the direction of possible.

4. On Thursday night in the car, in an ice-rain downpour, driving north, my eleven year old said: “When you grow up and need to take care of yourself, how do you figure out the right things to do?”

5. Sometimes, I think about meadows and standing in the middle of open ones and trying to get a moment of clarity about what work we’re doing, and how we should take care of ourselves and each other. In the meadow there is no direction to move — in the center of it, everything is available and all the outcomes and impossibilities have occurred already in the accordion of time.

6. My mom texted me a quote last week: “What if I told you the REASON why you want certain things so deeply is because it’s already yours at some point on the timeline? Your future self is whispering to you through intuitive feelings, dreams planted deep within, and crystal-clear visions. Those desires are not just wants; they’re PREVIEWS of what’s already yours on the timeline of your life. Embody them in the present moment, for they are the breadcrumbs leading you.” The quote she sent was on an emerald green background and written by Karin Hadadan. “I’ll buy you the whole book,” my mom texted after. “I think you need it.” (Thanks mom).

   

7. At our family dinner this weekend, I was away, elsewhere, somewhere in my soul, in a meadow, thinking about impossible things, thinking about PREVIEWS. Everyone around me was eating baked potatoes and beef tenderloin and chatting and laughing. I must have been hunched over, staring absently at the tablecloth. My sister reached across and tapped my hand. She said, “Are you okay in there? I’m holding a space for you.”

8. It always seems impossible until it’s done.

9. Sometimes, I do manage to write words on the paper. In a northward direction. At the kitchen island two months ago, I tried to explain the outline of my second book to my parents. My mom listened carefully for a long time (thanks again mom) and didn’t interrupt me. I was all over the place, and nothing went together, and while I was talking, I felt like the story was impossible. After I finished, and went quiet for a while, my mom said: “It was like this with Wild Beneath, too. It didn’t make any sense and the dots weren’t connecting for a long time. It was confusing. But then one day, it did. It will be the same with this story.”

   

10. It always seems impossible until it’s done.

11. You might think I’m only talking about writing. Yes, I’m talking about writing. But I’m also talking about writing our life stories. The shape of our lives. Walking toward what will take care of us and each other. Taking a tiny-step-in-the-direction-of. One degree. North. One signal that we’re still here, showing up, metaphorical and physical pen in hand. In front of the blank paper. Keep going.

    
    love,
    

    Kelly