Finding Beauty In Sadness

Recently, somebody asked the question online: why do we want our readers to like our protagonists? I guess we do. The bad guys, that’s not us (me, the writer and me, the protagonist). That’s them. I have found that I am looking towards beauty, peace and being free a lot these days. Which is a good thing, I guess, because in the end peace and freedom gives us the opportunity to make the choices we want and make the art we want.

On the other hand, however, I have come through my depression by accepting my down sides and my sadness. I was still able to create, because I embraced the sadness I felt. Not because I fought against it. Life is sometimes a little (or a lot) sad. We get down for whatever reasons. Only when I accept these moods, I can genuinely be free and make the art I want (write the stories I want).

These days I am taking time to read the longer stories on the internet, the articles, written by journalists and bloggers, because I want to step out of the fast and shallow life. And go back into the life of meaning. What does it all mean? Who are we on earth? And who are our fellow (wo)men? So I read about the girl who lost her brother to schizophrenia and how her brother suffered and how her parents suffered too.

I guess, what I am trying to say: life is not likable, sometimes people are not likable for the way they behave, but the bad guys, that’s us too. The sister didn’t like her brother when she was growing up, he was taking up her time with her parents. Of course, when she grew out of puberty she discovered that what he has, has nothing to do with being likable. He was that way, because he was that way.

To come back to the beginning and my focus to beauty, peace and freedom, I guess our only way to live with the bad guys, in real life and in our writings, we have to accept. We have to accept that we can be the bad guys too. We have to accept that some people are assholes, not because they choose that, but because they can’t be different at that time. Or at least, I want to accept. I want to accept me.

Note To Self: Oh, You Are Not Inspired

You are not inspired? Looking at the white screen? You are not inspired to write? To make? To do? To blog? Didn’t you once say, it was all about discipline? You have to be there, in order to be able to create.

Okay, alright, here I am:

do

Letting Love Go

When you really love somebody, you will set him free. You hear that all too often, right? Like a mother releasing her son, who needs to stand on his own two feet. I feel like I have to let myself go, I love me and I need to set myself free.

The thing that happened: I was writing with this guy, my lovely aunt introduced to me via e-mail. He is a religious guy and I am not, at least, no, I am not. I had something against this arrangement from the very first start, but I wanted to be nice and so I e-mailed him. Because I wanted to be nice to my aunt. But he wants to date me. And I have no idea 1. if I am in a dating mood and 2. where I should find the time.

See what I did there? I defended myself, even though nobody attacked me. I feel like I should be dating, I should be giving him a chance, even though my heart says no. My heart says: ‘Can’t you love yourself first?’ My heart says: ‘I need some quality time to be set free.’

I need to be free. I need to expand my heart. I need to feel solid in this world, before I can let anybody rock my boat. I have no idea where it comes from. It might be God. Or Jesus (I got to thinking about him, how he let bums and hookers sit as his table, how loving is that?! But why are so many people fighting over this guy?!). But in the end it doesn’t really matter where it comes from. It is a gut instinct, I have to follow it. I have to be free.

I love myself and I need to set myself free.

Escaping From Reality

Today we listen to the Ibiza style relaxing house music (obviously I have no idea what this kind of music is called). It reminds me of beaches and beach cafes. It is encouraged by the sun who shines deliberately bright today. I dream of building my own house in the sand with a outside area covered with old wood. When the sun is too hot, we hide in the striped shade. Otherwise we sit on the bare terrace, soaking up the light. Letting the natural energy of the sun take us in, until we are fully charged and make our way into the world.

Surely, life is never the perfect utopia we make for ourselves in our heads. Some days it will rain and the carefully placed branches above the terrace will not stop the water from reaching the deck. We are bound to stay inside or use our rain coats when we are obliged to go outside. We get cranky, we get fed up with each other and we long to be together again.

Do I want to escape? Sure, sometimes I feel my life could be so much better. Or more whole. Or more artistic. More creative. I haven’t written in weeks, or at least not building on the story I was writing for already over a year. Does not mean I have been standing still, no, the world turns and I try to find my place in it. Like a cat is bound to find her way into a box.  

This week, apart from having the flu, I have made one drastic decision. I have quit my job. Yes, from December, I will no longer be the outstanding journalist for Customer Talk. I am going to be a outstanding journalist, travel writer, traveler, writer, copy writer and consultant on my own. My second major decision this year (I am going traveling first!) and I feel good. It feels good. 

Doesn’t that feel entirely scary? Yes it does. Do I want to escape? Sure, but at least I can do my work from that heavenly place. Invite guests and still make a living at the same time. Wouldn’t that be great?

(PS. Looking for a text editor or journalist for your needs? Stay tuned for more information on my website. Or e-mail me at anne.vd.berg at gmail.com – end of commercial message)

This Was Going To Be My Week

It sort of still is my week, I mean, I am home alone by myself kinda my week, but I should be dancing, celebrating, breathing in the new life (gonna tell you more soon!!). Instead I am home bound for two days now, and it sucks. I am probably the worst patient ever. Ever. I can’t stay at home, because I get restless. So this morning I went to (school, I was going to write, well, that ship has sailed) work. I went to work. Only to return two hours later with no colour left in my face. No energy. All disorientated. And that is kinda the whole story I have to tell. I wonder if tomorrow is going to be better, but being ill is not something I enjoy doing. I only want to lay in bed when I choose to lay in bed. And I love my bed, seriously, it’s the kind of head over heals, never gonna leave you love, but this week we have been in overkill. My back gets all jammed up because of the laying around, the sleeping. So I get up, walk around and return again. It should have been good, this week, it should have been mine. I guess it’s my bed’s week. More than it is mine.