One True Sentence

I am doing my best and I cannot do it all

photo by jessie zevalkink

"I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.’”
- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

I no longer want to write about joy.

Maybe I should clarify that I no longer want to force myself to write about joy.

The Joy Still Exists section was added because, well, it felt “on brand.” And it’s true: joy does still exist (even with death and diagnoses and depressive episodes) and I love being a reminder of that fact.

But writing about it has felt forced (and not joyfully so). I felt like I had to add a dose of joy to my writing because otherwise I tend to trend dark. Who wants to read about grief all of the time?

Writing is how I process and cope with the difficulties of life - and that comes out on the page. Writing about joy felt like (sometimes) false proof to the world that I’m Fine. It allowed me to freely write about grief and loss and my own inner turmoil because as long as I threw in a piece about joy, no one would worry (BECAUSE I’M FINE).

But sometimes I’m not fine. Like earlier this week, when I was in a deep, dark sprial, and - willing blow up my life - I wrote a long-winded, stream of consciousness, verbal diaherrea post called, “I Quit.”

It was visceral and embodied. It was full of grief and rage. It felt cathartic to eject it from my being and onto the page.

But it wasn’t productive or helpful or even entirely true.

I am not in a position to quit it all, nor do I actually want to. I like - maybe even love - the business I created. I’m just struggling with all it entails. Running a business based off of grief, that supports other’s grief, while tending to my own grief is…complicated.¹

Something has to give.

And part of what’s giving is being ok letting go of the things that don’t bring me joy (ironic that it happens to be joy itself).

So after writing my rage rant, and asking myself, now what?, I took a deep breath and told myself to write one true sentence. What is one thing I know to be true?²

This is a tactic that I (and many other writers) use to combat writer’s block: just write one true sentence. But what about a life block? Could it be just as beneficial?

Turns out it can be.

When I took the time to reflect from a place of reality vs. a place of emotional insecurity, writing one true sentence gave me a major dose of perspective. It took me out of the “what ifs” in my head and jolted me back into the present moment.

The power of sitting in reality when your brain is wired for worst case panicking is tangible. The power of focusing on what’s true vs. what feels true is immense.

Turns out I didn’t hate everyone and everything and I didn’t want to blow up my life.

Simply, I am doing my best and I cannot do it all.

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Welcome to the newest segment of I’m Fine (& Other Lies): One True Sentence.

From now (until I decide to quit), I’ll be regularly sharing my One True Sentence. Sometimes, that’s all I’ll share, a single sentence. Othertimes, I’ll share where that sentence leads me or what inspired it. Every time, I’ll encourage you to join me in sharing your one true sentence too - to take a moment and be present with yourself.

This doesn’t mean I will never write about joy. It just means no more forced joy posts.

I’ll save the One True Sentence that came from this spiraling rant rage for the next post, but until then, tell me, what’s your one true sentence today? I’d love to hear in the comments below.

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1. especially when you couple it with a lack of boundaries to protect your own mental health and a deep desire to help.

2. This is from Ernest Hemingway’s, A Moveable Feast, a book my partner Nate is re-reading and the influence for this post.