A letter to my Resistance
I woke up this morning and you’d invited yourself into my home, my room.
You pulled up a chair and stared at me until my eyes began to flutter in the morning light.
You accompanied me to the kitchen where I made eggs and coffee.
You followed like a shadow as I took my dog for a walk.
You rested your head on my shoulder as I picked out my clothes.
As I stood in front of my office door, you pointed to all the urgent tasks I have neglected to complete.
The box of unopened mail.
You know how I hate a mess.
To others, you point to a substance, a person, an activity.
To me, you hold up the menial tasks that gather and lay dormant until I am at the brink of an evolution.
Only then do they stretch and scream their needy wails.
You tease and taunt them.
I feel my cells change direction.
My fingers grasp for the ‘completion’ of anything but my work.
Today, though, I retract my hand.
I reorient my cells.
I push open the door to my office, then my computer.
My weighted hands find the keys.
The text builds. One line, then another.
A wall, ever growing.
I fight for my creativity.
I honor the call.
I’ve done my work.
I have beat Resistance.