I found it this morning when looking for my morning pills. There it was, in the same place it’s been since January, taking up much of the space in this drawer, calling my attention with its gorgeous, glimmery design. My notebook.
Being only 6:05 in the morning, I thought I’d pause and check out the sentences I collected in January as part of my “slicing preparation.” When I collected those sentences, the only goal was to get them down and mark that day as done. There wasn’t much intention in what I chose to write or how I wrote it. It was freestyling, no thinking, work it.
I brought the notebook to the kitchen, placed it on the kitchen counter, and opened it to a random section. First, I was delighted to find more sheets of orange stickers (they are now as common to me as Post-its). I put those aside and flipped a few pages back to find where January began.
The sentences found me just as I found the notebook, unexpectedly. They seemed to believe their fate was to stand on their own, without being shaped into anything else. But one of them made eye contact with me, it read itself inside my head, suggesting I do something with it.
“You like how I sound,” it said. “I’m proof that sometimes cool stuff comes out when you’re freestyling.”
I took the hint and went to get my laptop. There’s a lot that can be said with that sentence, I thought. I wear that sentence most of my days, whenever I think of Elena, and on special days. I also fight with it. That sentence doesn’t argue; it just stands. But I think of it, and become defensive.
I fall into a “I’m right, you aren’t” sort of debate. That sentence, tucked in a notebook, left inside a drawer—without a worry in the world. Because the sentence, as much as it does nothing to provoke me, holds a way of being I have tried to get rid of, like a snake peels its skin. Slowly, but surely.
The other day, I wrote about seeing my life in the opposite way of what that sentence represents. Since this challenge started, and even before that, I’ve caught myself toying with that sentence, but fighting the mindset. There’s only truth to it if I allow there to be. It’s a shift I often must make.
So this morning, as I finish typing these words with a commitment to let it be and just go back to my happier way of seeing life, I decide I’ll write a new sentence to be my standing soldier whenever I need it.
Start with a Story 
Ana, this slice is such a moving example of how the process of writing — the act of thinking, putting words to paper, reflecting on those words — brings meaning to our lives, not in the product, but in the simple of act of doing it. It has that therapeutic quality that can bring illumination and discovery in a subtle but very powerful way. I’m very happy you discovered your notebook today because in that discovery, you recalibrated so elegantly, not only in creating this new soldier sentence but in how that new perspective will spill out into how you live your life. Thank you for this reminder. I needed to hear it today!
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I love the way you personify that writing, as in the way they “believe their fate was to stand on their own, without being shaped into anything else.” So many times I’ve written down a scrap of inspiration, only to come back to it another time. Sometimes it’s a nudge to think about the way I move in this world, as your “stop living in the emptiness of our glass” sentence seems to do.
And the new sentence, standing guard beside the old one? I’m going to carry that image with me. For a LONG while. Thank you for that, Ana.
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Your reflection, “I live in the fullness of my glass,” is a more than a tee shirt motto. It is a way of seeing life and the constant balance of multiple intersecting identities as fullness rather than holes. At your stage of life, I often (always) felt overwhelmed and as if I should be doing more for all of the people/parts of my life; however, I tried to keep my self doubts bottled up and made believe they were my own limitations. I got up at 4 in the morning to clean and cook; fortunately for me, I had one of those “get with the program” realizations and changed my course before I burned out of impacted my kids – too much.
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I love how your slice was less about the sentence and more about your interaction with it. The personification is genius. And thank you for sharing your new sentence! I will remember this one for sure.
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I love your new sentence so much:
“I live in the fullness of my glass.”
What a fantastic mantra made more meaningful by hearing of your struggle to get there.
Enjoy the fullness!
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I love how you came to your new sentence and wrote it down in place of the old. The old that’s full of “should”s (which inevitably make us feel bad while the speaker stands tall).
Something a therapist told me once is to replace “should” with “can” or “might” — I tried it with your original sentence and the whole energy shifted and feels more in line with your new sentence. Try it! 😉
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There will always be the murmur of what more or what else, AND it sounds like you’re doing a pretty awesome job of celebrating the daily awesome.
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