Swimming, Surrendering, and Shining: Lessons After Two Years of Blogging

“Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.” – W. H. Murray

 

My blog turns two years old tomorrow, and I feel like a proud-yet-frantic mother – rushing around to admire it and improve it, to fix it and celebrate it, to embrace it while looking towards its future.

Because in a way, tomorrow is a birthday for me too. My life has been altered by my decision two years ago to liberate my writing from the private pages of my journals. My journey has been slow and fumbling, and the insecurities that plague my daily life show up every time I write a post – perfectionism, doubt, people-pleasing, and so on.

So I thank you for being part of this party, this community, this journey of unfolding – it’s an honor and a divine appointment to live in an era where we can all express our voices online. To celebrate, here are a few lessons I’ve learned from sharing my writing – for writers and non-writers alike:

 

*You are swimming in your own expertise.

A friend recently e-mailed me and asked me what methods I use to cope with anxiety and destructive thoughts. I spent over an hour writing a response to him, heart-to-heart, direct and uplifting, with no intention of anyone else seeing it. I poured everything I had into this message before I hit “send.”

A few days later, I was struggling to figure out what my next blog post should be about. I had plenty of ideas and half-written snippets, but nothing felt juicy enough to publish.

Until it hit me that my next blog post was already written – it was in the message I had just sent to my friend. That e-mail, revised and mashed up with some poetry I had written, became my most popular piece of writing to date and has helped hundreds of people cope with their anxiety.

Our expertise is everywhere, so pervasive that we have a hard time seeing it because we are basking in it. What are people asking you for? What are you providing without even realizing it?

Your writing and your life purpose already exist in your conversations, in the items on your bulletin board, in the e-mails you send. Stop trying to discover grandiose new ideas and start sharing what’s already lighting you up.

 

*You are supported.

Encouragement and support are wildly present in every moment, and you can choose to lean into that stream of well-being or you can choose to pretend that it doesn’t exist. You will probably dance somewhere in between those two states of being, which is perfectly human and wonderful. Keep dancing.

Most people genuinely want you to succeed. Let the small cramped words of the few token critics be overshadowed by the resounding “yes… yes… yes” that whispers from every crevice of this planet when a person boldly and unabashedly shows up to her life.

 

*You are qualified.

You are a writer because you made the commitment to write words onto a page and share them with the world. You are an expert because you say so.

Don’t let your ego enchain you by whispering that you need one more degree, ten more years of aging, or more life experience before you begin. Start when you are called to start, and let that courageousness lead you into the new lessons that will open up along the way.

 

*Surrender it all.

You don’t get to decide whether or not the interviewer hires you. You don’t get to decide whether or not your lover leaves you.

And you don’t get to decide how many people will read your writing. You don’t get to decide whether those people work in the publishing world or if they will swoon over your words. All you can do is show up, express your truth, stay in tune with the intention of service, and surrender the rest. When we write from a selfish place of trying to impress someone, that energy shines through and dilutes our words.

Before I publish every blog post, I pray that my writing finds its way to every person who needs to hear its message – whether that means 5 people or 5 million people. The numbers are outside of my control, so I let them go. I pray to surrender and trust, I hit “publish,” and I do my best to move on with my day.

 

*Shine.

When you stay small and keep your voice piped down, you deprive someone of the opportunity to have a life-altering experience from your expression – whether that comes in the form of writing or service projects or soulful conversations. The people of this world are struggling with the same challenges that you are, and we need to hear whatever it is that you are called to express.

Share your authentic truth with the world in a dazzling way because the world needs your voice. Go big and shine brightly.

 

To another year of vibrant expression,

Kelsey

Thanks for two fabulous years! Daydreaming of big plans for year three...

Thanks for two fabulous years! Daydreaming of big plans for year three…

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One thought on “Swimming, Surrendering, and Shining: Lessons After Two Years of Blogging

  1. This so moved me! So happy that you have been generous enough to share your Blog for two years! Makes me want to go back and read every one I missed. Congratulations, you are wonderful!

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