I’ve Already Begun

Last night, I was reading in bed.

What I wanted to know was how Naomi Takayama went from being a chef to becoming a writer.

I thought that if I could understand how she got there, maybe I could see, even just a little, how I should move forward too.

I borrowed three of her books.

But I couldn’t find a single sentence that made me think, “This is it.”

As I was reading, a thought suddenly came to me.

Maybe I’ve been searching a little too hard.

When I go looking outside myself for answers, I’m usually a little anxious.

Maybe the answer is already inside me.

I just don’t have enough confidence to accept it.

So I think I’ve been searching for something that would tell me,

“Yes. It’s okay to do it that way.”

I’ve been keeping a diary since December.

I’ve never really thought that I loved writing.

I don’t think I’m particularly good at it either.

But when I look back, I realize that I’m always thinking.

Always reflecting.

How can I live my own life?

How can I stay here, without drifting away from myself?

Almost as if I’m clinging on,

but somehow still refusing to give up,

I keep trying things, making mistakes, and trying again.

There was something I noticed while reading Takayama’s diary.

It isn’t polished.

She doesn’t write every day.

It doesn’t feel like it was written to be seen.

And yet, she has continued for more than twenty years.

Whenever I try to put something out into the world,

I dress it up a little.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to keep going.

So what should I do?

As I was thinking about that,

a feeling came to me.

I believe that taking care of my body and mind is the most important thing I can do in order to live as myself.

I know I’ll lose my balance sometimes.

That’s part of it too.

What matters is coming back.

Or at least, trying to come back.

And the knowledge I’ve gained over ten years as a physical therapist

can probably help me with that, too.

Could I write in my diary,

“Today, I tried this”?

For example, a way of moving that protects my lower back.

Or how my body feels on a day when my emotions are unsettled.

Or just a few quiet minutes before going to sleep.

I could try these things in my everyday life,

and simply write down what happens.

It would be a little like work,

and at the same time,

just an extension of ordinary life.

As I kept thinking,

I began to see a faint image of my future self.

Maybe I’m writing a book.

Maybe someone is interviewing me.

Maybe I’m creating something with a team.

But I couldn’t really see what I was doing.

I only saw someone

living,

thinking,

and continuing to make her own choices.

This morning,

while listening to Joe Dispenza speak,

I realized something.

I don’t think I want to believe his words.

I think I want to find out for myself, through my own life.

Will it really happen?

Can I really change?

I want to experience that for myself.

At first,

I started writing because I wanted to know,

“What kind of person am I? What is it that I do?”

But as I kept writing,

the question slowly began to change.

Maybe all I need to do is keep thinking like this,

putting it into words,

and continuing.

Maybe one day,

it will become something for someone else, too.

But maybe that’s something that comes later.

There is only one thing I know right now.

I’ve already begun.

I’m not doing anything special.

I’m simply looking at who I am today,

thinking,

and writing.

But I believe that if I keep doing this,

somehow,

it will lead me to whatever comes next.