Threads of Being

“Pull a thread in my story and feel the tremor half a world and two millenia away.” ~ Daniel Taylor

I have been thinking about starting this journal for such a long time that I literally have forgotten where I wanted to begin. As I sit down to write an initial post, my thoughts are racing (with unworthiness and impostering leading the pack), and I admit that I have no real sense of direction except “just type something…anything.”

Truth be told, I am overcome by feelings of anxiety and uncertainty the thought of creating this space. It has been a very long time since I have felt my words and ideas have belonged entirely to me. While I sincerely love my work (like, for real. It fills me with a deep sense of purpose and vitality and I consider myself extremely blessed to do what I do) I am- nonetheless- very much in the trenches of nouveau capitalism. My days are spent immersed in a culture that thrives on turning personhood into a branding strategy and commodifying the very essence of human existence.

I have been longing for a reconnection with myself, and feeling compelled to create a space where I can freely dive into the many thoughts I have on a daily basis. These are so often pushed to the side or, worse yet, reduced to more “caption friendly” bite-size chunks of social media palatability that I rarely give myself permission to immerse myself in them entirely.

You see, my thoughts rarely fit well into the acceptable social moulds. They almost always hemming, and the excess is left to lie lifeless in my mind, like discarded scraps of fabric begging to be quilted back to life.

When planning out a first post, I considered all the things one is supposed to do. I should expain the title of the blog. I should outline what you can expect from it. I should consider my potential readers and consider what I can say that might extend their attention beyond a 7 second tik tok video.

I have also carefully considered the selfishness of the task. I should be working on school, or a work project, or any myriad of items on my infinite to do list. I should be using this time to be present with my kids, to be a supportive partner, to reassure those in my life that they are still important to me, that I am only asking to exist within myself, for myself, for a few moments a day.

Yes, friends. There are many things I should do.

But, in this moment, there are also things I need to do.

I need to speak with a voice that belongs wholly to me.

I need to celebrate my wild thoughts and zany ideas and to claim them as essential parts of who I am.

I need to give myself permission to take ownership of my emotional, mental, and physical labour and to accept credit for the work I have put into becoming who I am.

I need to set boundaries around what is mine, and learn which parts of me I want to cherish and hold close, and which I am prepared to share with others and with the world.

And, perhaps most importantly, I need to stop making myself smaller to try to fit into the narrow boxes of others people’s comfort. I need to gather the discarded scraps of who I am, who I have been, and who I am becoming, and weave them into something that I believe is worthy of celebration.

So, to any friends who have made it this far, I’m not quite sure that you can expect from this journal yet. I can tell you that it will likely be filled with my theories on the interwoven nature of mind, body, and connection and of how human essence is the delicate dance between the self, the other, and spaces in between. Expanding on these is the main motivator of beginning this journal to begin with. So you’ll likely get a lot of science, a lot of philosophy, and a lot of sociology…because those things are intricately linked to my sense of self.

But ultimately (she says, with a familiar quiver of uncertainty in her voice), this really isn’t about what you’ll get.

This is project is about me, by me, for me. The only person I am writing for is for myself.

And I need that most of all.

Zita