Monday Muse

On Vision, Love, and Being Brave Enough to Be Human

Have you ever gone through old journals? They’re filled with the ghosts of old selves. In them, you see past-yous that were hopeful or hopeless, stubborn or hungry for change, mundane or achingly divine.

Last week, I spoke about how I’m in a process of creating a new vision and I promised I would share how I’ve gone about this with you. The truth is, it’s almost impossible to look forward without first looking back and conversing with those old ghosts.

Two years ago, my life changed completely. A 25-year marriage that I thought would never end, suddenly ended. I moved towns, lost friends, said goodbye to a future I’d taken for granted. Someone told me during that dark period that divorce is “the death of hope.” It sounds dramatic because starting over is dramatic.

In the two years since then, I’ve made so many mistakes. I spent time moving through the world as a wounded animal. There have been moments of intense shame and crying on bathroom floors. There have been delusions that sent me chasing windmills. But there have also been moments of blinding clarity, of knowing myself more deeply than I thought possible. Those were the worst—seeing myself clearly.

The problem with knowing yourself deeply is that it’s not all sunshine down there. There are bottom-of-the-sea creatures in there. There are mirrors that reflect parts of yourself you never wanted to meet or acknowledge. And there are tiny selves shivering in corners, abandoned in their pain.

It’s tempting when spelunking through these inner caves to imagine you are special. That your hurts and shadows are unique. That in the history of the world no one has suffered like you. But the biggest realization, the hardest one, is finally understanding that all suffering doesn’t make you special—it makes you human.

It’s humbling.

Luckily, and somewhat uncomfortably, I have journaled through this entire process. There are hundreds of pages where I struggle to sort myself out. Pitiful Jaye, Resolute Jaye, Silly Jaye, Brave but Dumb Jaye, Mundane Jaye, Delulu Jaye, Panicked Jaye, Calm Jaye, Rage Jaye—all of these selves are there. By revisiting these pages, I can begin to see through the ranting, emoting parts to the calm center self, who has patiently been waiting for me to drop the bullshit and listen to her.

When I started writing in my 30s, there was no doubt in my mind I would get published. Every rejection or setback was like a red flag waved in front of a bull (or Ram, since I’m an Aries). I’d put my head down, grit her teeth, and headbutt the obstacle into submission.

Eventually, I got published. My books were published in multiple languages, got awards, hit bestseller lists. I thought I was so smart. I thought I was special. I wasn’t like those other writers who gave up. I didn’t listen to older writers who warned about burn out or how much of a role luck plays in an author’s success. I was different.

The problem was that my infallible sense that I was meant to be an author was tainted by a motivation to prove myself. So when things started going south with the market and I had a harder time of getting new things published, my confidence shattered. Being published doesn’t cure self-bout, it doubles it. And when your ego relies on staying published to survive, failure leads to ego crash out.

Here’s what I’ve learned from losing everything: The core-me is a person who is supposed to tell stories. But not because I need to earn something from it. I am supposed to tell stories because it is my light. My problem before was that I thought the light was supposed to shine INWARD, on me, so I could feel visible and valuable. Now I know, the light is supposed to shine OUTWARD.

I go back to a quote from Picasso a lot:

“The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”

Now, look, Picasso was entirely problematic on a lot of fronts, but he happened to be right about this point.

None of this is to say you should not be paid for your labor. The point is that some of us think if we become successful performing our passions as a profession we will show the world we are worthy of love. We are talented (we are lovable). We made money (we are worthy). We are perceived by so many strangers (we are special).

It’s not our fault for feeling this way. Capitalism tells us that we are only valuable if we create cashflow, and we live in a culture where attention is currency. Being a creative is mythologized, pathologized, and romanticized. But if you strip all of that away, being creative is simply the act of being human.

So when I tell you I have been going through the process of creating my vision, what I really mean if I have been in the process of becoming more human. Of knowing myself to be imperfect and messy, but also believing I am absolutely lovable.

That’s my vision: To love myself and the world.

Creating stories, for me, is an act of self love, but it is also an act of loving the world because my stories can help people. They entertain people going through chemo, and they help people feel seen in the characters I create. I also have had at least one reader report that he used a paperback copy of one of my books to fend off a bird attack (he sent photo evidence with beak marks). So you never know how your work is helping the world.

For you, loving yourself and the world may look like being a CPA to help people navigate the byzantine IRS code. Or teaching children so they have tools to live a good life. Or maybe it’s repairing cars so that drivers can go about their lives safely. Or maybe you don’t know what loving yourself looks like yet. But I guarantee you have a light to shine.

I firmly believe we (and by “we” I mean I) overcomplicate things. Having a vision and a purpose really can be as simple as asking yourself, “What is the most loving thing I can do for myself today?”

I’m not talking about codependent love where you enable yourself into fell-good-in-the-moment decisions. I’m talking about the unflinching love of a mother or a best friend who wants you to grow into your most healthy self. It’s love that takes longterm thriving into account. It’s love that sometimes says “no” even if you need to throw a tantrum before you settle down to work.

Loving yourself is hard sometimes, and loving the world can feel impossible, especially in these confusing times. But what is the alternative? Hating yourself by indulging in activities that only worsen the loathing. Distracting yourself from your emotions by overworking in a job you hate, dating apps, sweet treats, Reels, petty influencer drama, or obsessively watching the news. Anything to numb ourselves from the discomforts of being human.

You want a vision? You’ve got to feel. You’ve got to get human. You’ve got to be brave enough to love yourself.

It’s that simple and that complicated.

-The Messy Muse

P.S. There will be no tarot reading today. Instead, ask yourself, “What the most loving thing I can do today?” and journal the hell out of the answer.