Kismet, Clubhouse & Soul Notes

Today, for the first time in probably more than a year, I went on Clubhouse and listened in on a call.

I listened to a human giving readings, channeling whatever came through for each person.

When it was my turn, I asked what my next steps are & whether my sobriety plays a role in my future.

They invited me to start writing regularly, because when I write, I channel.

I’d never heard this before, but it makes total sense.

Writing has always been easy for me, as easy as my love for books.

Writing has been a vessel, a safe space, a deep breath in a world in which I’ve often felt like I was drowning.

They also suggested writing, it feels awkward and egotistical to say:

“A daily devotional.”

As a spiritual human who hopes to one day be as helpful and impactful as the great teachers—as a healer who is, often, healing—this sounded scary.

And also, somehow, delicious.

They went on, saying the messages, the notes, a daily reading or reminder could be from me—to me.

Me as a child, as a teenager—to my inner kiddos—as a friend calls them. (Because we have more than one!)

Writing to help her get through, to understand herself, to love herself, to be courageous in how she shows up in the world and in creating her whole story.

And as the universe always does…

Less than 12 hours earlier I wrote this in my journal:

Find a way to write soul notes for anyone who needs a reminder that they’re doing a good job, they matter, they’re loved and seen and held across the interwebs.

It’s me. I’M ANYONE.

I need the reminders!

And tonight’s call?

I landed on a call with 30 other people & received a soul reading in an app that I haven’t been on in at least a year.

I got to Clubhouse when I clicked on a link in an email that I now can’t even find in my inbox!

That’s kismet.

So I’m writing again, and it’s especially fitting since I’m bed bound with illness right now.

Writing is about as much as I can do.

So the letter to my 16-year old self tonight, perhaps the first of many, is this:

Just wait, dear one. Your life is so precious.

Right now, you’re halfway to the year & moment when you choose to live.

It’ll take another 16 years before you move to West Virginia and live with your best friend and connect with nature and remember why TF you’re here.

You’re just getting started, little one. I say “little” not to comment on your size because what’s on the outside is truly unimportant.

I say “little one” in the sense of your perspective of what’s possible in this world—the walls you’ve seen so far are just a fraction of what you’re going to experience.

You’ll spend the next decade trying to figure out how to exist in your body without hate, how to exist in a world not designed for people like you. For brains like yours.

But just wait precious one.

Because your time is coming. One day you will realize that it is far far more important to love being yourself, regardless of what you look like.

You’ll realize that the external shell that we occupy is constantly changing, aging, being renewed in your cells and your taste buds.

You’ll change inside too, over and over. And what’s truly important is who you are and how you show up in this world.

One day you’ll learn to play, laugh & rest again.

I know it’s hard AF at times.

And also—I know this without a shadow of a doubt—

A tame lion is still a lion.

So get ready to roar.