Apparently, my strongest urges to write come in the fall. I went to my little WordPress app today, itching to express myself, and saw that most of my previous posts were published in September in previous years.

Fall must be the source of my creation…

Although, most of the years I’ve been blogging, I have lived in Tucson, Arizona, which definitely does not participate in autumn until much later in the year; basically we have it for about three weeks in November-December, and it’s still at least 80 degrees.

Randomly, I’m reminded of being a little one, when my dad would put my sister and I by reading us a story–our favorite was the Little House on the Prairie series 🙌🏻. And whether it was the end of a chapter or the end of the book, he would always close our reading time with the following phrase: ” And that, my friends, is the end of our story.”

This is the point of the blog where I can hear my reader saying, “get to the point, Jenna.”

Alright, alright, here it is: I no longer feel the need to beat myself up when I don’t consistently create. Sheesh, this doesn’t mean I don’t regularly remember how much it lifts my spirit to string words together and share with the world. But I regularly think of publishing something, and tell myself I shouldn’t, because I won’t be able to produce something weekly.

What kind of messed up expectation is that? If I can’t be consistent with my energy and offerings, I shouldn’t even try?

I find it interesting, since I tend to try most things whether or not I can complete them, and put forth legitimate effort toward nearly everything. But writing…. writing is such a glimpse into my soul that perhaps I fear any sort of failure when it comes to writing than anything else.

Sharing through written word is so sacred for me and my chosen avenue for vulnerability; perhaps it’s not so strange that I want to fully dedicate time to something with such a hold over me. And yet I want not to care so much. I just want to write freely. Share freely. And not really give a fuck if you don’t like it!

Another chance to let go of expectations. To let go of my constant desire to be perfect or at the very least consistent. I recently went to a little seminar led by a wonderful woman I know who discussed how our energy levels change throughout the month based on our cycles, and we ought to notice and accept those inevitable highs and lows. I’ve never been very good at that. Instead, I push and push and push, and get myself so worn out that I need help getting through my commitments for the week.

And I hate asking for help.

In the last six months, I’ve started to anticipate my energy changes. I’ve noticed when it’s appropriate to push, and when I need to take it easy. Just last week during a panic attack (that’s an incident for another blog), I had a few potential commitments for the afternoon, including a HIIT workout. Instead, I baked. I let myself breathe. I rode the wave of anxiety and skipped an event I really wanted to go to, because I knew I really needed to serve a different piece of me.

Life’s a never-ending lesson, isn’t it? We continue to be offered the opportunity to practice patience, self-love, kindness toward ourselves and others. And if we allow it, we continue to grow and compose, at whatever pace feeds our spirit. I still always hope to write more, express more, create more. And perhaps I’m simply learning that my timeline gets to be a little more sporadic than it “should” be. Perhaps, I just give when I have something I want to give.

And that, my friends, is the end of the story.