I have seen, I have read, I have heard about the incredible value of consistency.
The success it brings.
The hard-work ethic and its results.
It’s all true. And you know how I know?
I’ve been incredibly inconsistent at times (many times, in fact). And this has resulted in me remaining stagnant, as opposed to reaching what I want to most.
And what is that, you ask? Let me clarify.
Photo: skeeze via Pixabay
First, it’s to write books. Many, many books, particular novels and collections of short stories, but also nonfiction when my soul calls for it (and I do have an idea brewing in the basement of the mind for a nonfiction book).
But more than that, I want to take this lifelong battle against myself as a lost writer and, pushing through the self-built barriers, and help guide those in similar shoes (or show them how to guide themselves, because it is us, in the end, who forge our own paths).
There is a ton to learn on this journey, which is, of course, never-ending, as it should be.
A few months back, thanks to a reference I read in Janet Connor’s Writing Down Your Soul (a beautiful book and one I feel the need to re-read soon), I picked up another book called The Life You Were Born to Live: A Guide to Finding Your Life Purpose by Dan Millman. It’s not so much a self-help book as it is a spiritual roadmap of sorts. It sheds light on how to learn about your life’s purpose simply from your birth date and a few calculations. You can try this out here.
The results are many, but my particular purpose is calculated as a 23/5, which means my path is “to work through issues related to independence, emotional honesty, and cooperation, finally experiencing freedom through discipline and depth of experience.”
And that’s it. That’s the key. Discipline and depth of experience. As Millman writes it in the book (and I’m paraphrasing here), this is like seeing a shining beacon that you know is your ultimate ideal goal of achievement, and the only way to reach it is to consistently push through a waist-deep swamp of muck and weeds that pull at your legs and weigh you down. There is no shortcut to that beacon, it is only reachable through the muck-filled swamp. And the only way through that muck is to consistently push your way, steadily, gradually, without end.
For a long time, I didn’t know my swamp was even there. Within the last year, I saw it through the trees, and now, more recently, I’ve been sitting on the edge of that swamp with my feet hanging in, hesitant, but ready to move forward. Because it has been a consistent lack of consistency that has kept me from reaching that beacon-land . . . I’ll call it Beaconlandia here.
What does Beaconlandia look like?
It’s a place where I run the show. I write and publish my books. I connect with readers and subscribers. I provide whatever guidance I can to the lost writers, the uncertain ones, the ones who have had that pull tug at them for so long and they haven’t responded to it because they don’t know how or aren’t sure why or are just utterly confused and foggy about it all. I devote myself to this, the life of writing, the life of producing, of pouring myself out onto the page and continuing the passing of guidance as I’ve received, and continue to receive, it.
There is clarity through this fog, there is light. It’s there, but it’s not at the end of a tunnel. It’s not from up high on a pinnacle mountaintop. The light is below the surface of the earth, deep down, below roots and insects and muck and dirt and all the composting grime of nature. Which appears ugly, gross, filthy. But it is beautiful. And to get through it, to reach that light, one must dig.
Not tomorrow. Not “when things will time up better.” Neither of those exist. There is only one time that does.
And that’s now.