Over the weekend, I had a moment of particular funkiness, and not in the George Clinton way. In the uncomfortable in my skin way. Theresa tried a few routes to exploring what might help me feel better and by every creative route, I hit a wall. I had no idea. I just couldn’t access that info.
Saturday, we defaulted to the tried-and-true technique of cuddling up for an episode of whatever show we’re into at the time followed by a nice, long walk (worked like a charm, yet again). Other times, when it’s not a momentary funk but, rather, a sticky place in a bigger learning curve, I use this one bizarrely simple technique to discern what’s going on – what I want and need: I write a letter to myself from my inner mentor.[Cue Madeleine Peyroux: I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter/and make believe it came from you…]
Step by step, it goes something like this:
I sit down with a journal or actual piece of paper. Handwriting accesses our brains differently than typing and I suspect there’s something about the slower pace of handwriting that also helps. Paper and pen, friends.
I set the intention that I’m going to allow my inner mentor to share with me.
I address the letter to myself, “Dear SB,…”
And then I just write. As I do, I inevitably hear a gremlin voice that says, “This is stupid. You’re making it all up.” To which I’ve trained myself to respond, “Yeah, maybe, but I’m going to do it anyway, just in case.”
And I keep writing.
I’ve done this countless times. I still never expect it to work. It still always does. It still always illuminates some wisdom that I hadn’t been able to fully see. It still always provides me with insight and comfort and direction.
I encourage you to set aside 15 minutes and give it a try. You’re likely to be surprised about how valuable that 15 minutes turns out to be.