The Art of Beginning Again

 

“This world of dew

is a world of dew—

and yet, and yet…”

                        —Kobayashi Issa

I think many of us live in that ‘and yet’ without acknowledging it. I’ve been living there too—paused by loss, reshaped by it, and slowly trying to find my way back to my words. 

Words always bring me comfort but, when you're forced to set them aside for things beyond your control, it's hard to find it in them still. 

The loss of my mother affected me in ways I hadn't anticipated, and not for reasons that are common in this type of situations. I'm not going to elaborate on her passing because I feel a part of me still hasn't processed it—and probably never will—but it has left its mark even though we had our differences.

These past several months have been hard on me mentally, physically and, most of all, emotionally, and I've been too drained to find solace in what brings me comfort. How do you overcome that? How do you stop feeling like whatever you do doesn't matter when everyone else sees you as a failure? I asked myself these questions often, wondering if it's even possible to move forward.

"And yet" embraces a multitude of emotions, not only loss—helplessness, the fear of failing, and that unyielding feeling that no matter what you do, nothing changes. And when you're stuck in that place mentally, it's hard to free yourself. 

Lately I've been thinking a lot about where I want to go and what I want moving forward. Beginning again... but how do you actually do it? Beyond reflecting on my life and goals, I've also been musing on my writing—and I am not ashamed to admit that my trip to Japan played a big role in this. Experiencing the beauty of the country I so long wished to see and the quiet stillness hidden in everyday moments reminded me of something important: I want to bring that same magic and calm into my writing. 

In the coming months, I will be exploring the overlooked stories, the quiet moments, and the small wonders that make life meaningful. My writing will continue to wander, only now with more direction and determination. Most of all, I want to carry the calm I discovered in Japan into my work. 

If you've been living in your own "And yet", this is a moment to pause, take a breath, and contemplate what beginning again might look for you. I'd love to hear your thoughts—and your own "And yet" moments—in the comments. And if this post resonated with you, you’re welcome at A Bite of Quiet—my quiet monthly letter of slow reflections and new stories. 

Beginning again is indeed an art and—just like art—it's something that needs nurturing, so that we are able to shape it into something we can be proud of.