What Comes After the Vulnerability Movement?

*I’m playing with putting my musings* *on YouTube* *for anyone who prefers to watch instead of read :)*

When I first started writing consistently last year, a little voice would sometimes pop up: “Ugh,” it would say, “WHY DIDN’T YOU START DOING THIS EARLIER?”

“Why didn’t you do this when you were still a depressed little mushroom?”

“Why didn’t you do this FROM burnout?”

“Why didn’t you do this while you were actively sorting out addiction?”

“Why NOW, when things are largely good? Ain’t nobody wants to hear about that. People want to hear the down-in-the-mud-rolling-around-in-the-ick dirt. The good stuff. The vulnerable stuff. The ‘you’re not alone in your suffering,’ full disclosure ‘my life’s a mess and let me tell you all about it’ gold.”

But, for me, that’s not how it unfolded. Possibly because my creative pursuits are built on a foundation of stability…and addiction, depression and burnout didn’t offer that stability. (Please read into that in every possible way – if you’re currently in the muck, I think it’s insane to place sky-high expectations on yourself. That’s not helpful. That’s harmful. Please cut yourself a break.)

Then, over the last few weeks, as I’ve spent more time feeling bleh than bright and shiny, I’ve on-again/off-again wondered if I cursed myself. Did I accidentally send vibes out to the Universe asking for a down period for the sake of my writing? Did I secretly want to suffer because I wanted to write about it, then be patted on the back and thanked for my honesty and vulnerability?

I hope not. I very, very, very seriously hope not.

Because I have a vision for us all.

I am over-the-moon tickled pink that we now live in an era of vulnerability. I’m grateful for Brené Brown and Glennon Doyle and all the other truth tellers who reminded us that we’re allowed to talk about life being hard and messy and draining and complex.

Being in recovery ruined small talk for me, so this shift was very helpful. After spending my twenties sitting in circles with people who talked this way before it was cool, speaking vulnerably and openly became essential to my well-being.

And…

I think this decade is going to be about the shift from “life’s hard and that’s okay,” to “wait, actually…what if it doesn’t have to be this hard?”

So, when I feel validation-frustrated because I know that people like to hear about the down and dirty more than anything else (at least in personal narrative style writing), I remember this: when Buddha shared the Four Noble truths with the world, he started out by identifying the presence of suffering. By validating, “yes, to be human is to suffer.”

And then he used the other three truths (75% of the truths!) to focus on the path OUT of suffering.

So, right now, when I have the ability to talk about how I’m feeling off, when I have good juicy fodder about feeling lonely and listless, when I’m struggling with weird vibes between Sam and I because all that travel I complained about created disharmony between us…I can’t even pull good writing out of it.

Because, while I want to be vulnerable and real and create connection by saying, “Yep, it’s hard for me too, this human thing,” – that’s pretty much as deep as the musing goes. My suffering stopped being interesting to me, much like Liz Gilbert’s fear stopped being interesting to her. The same way Liz woke up one day and realized that her fear was tediously boring (read the Courage chapter of “Big Magic”), I woke up recently and realized that my suffering is, in fact, rather dull.

I can’t say I expected that but, fortunately, I don’t write about what I expect: I write about what I discover to be true.

So, here’s to hoping that we’re winding down the “life is suffering” chapter as a society and shifting into the “path out of suffering” chapter. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Wishing you a glorious life and freedom from suffering,

Keely