THE INKWELL SOUL

Tag: #fixer

  • A Poem: The Cliff

    The air changes first. A subtle shift in the barometric pressure of the soul, A scent of ozone and old, familiar lightning. I was standing on the plateau of my own peace, Watching the horizon I built with steady hands, Until the word – the detail – the shadow Stepped out from the brush.

    Then comes the Surprise. The initial jolt of the shove. It’s not a physical hand on my back, But the weight of a ghost from a decade ago. Whispering, “I know this road.” The ground beneath my boots turns to vapor, And suddenly, the gravity of the past Claims its right to my heart.

    I am Falling. And I am reaching. A desperate need to grab at the thin, cold air – Clutching for the “what ifs” and the “signs,” Trying to snag my fingernails into the cracks of a potential That was never solid to begin with. My mind is a frantic bird, Beating its wings against the memory of the souls And the wreckage of lives I tried to mend with my own skin.

    Then the Fear sets in. It’s a cold, metallic hum in my marrow. My chest tightens, a rebel’s armor suddenly too small, As the physical truth of the descent takes hold. My pulse is the rhythm of the “warning,” A percussion of panic that beats against my ribs, Reminding me of the texture of the stones below.

    I can see the Landing. It feel inevitable – The thud of the “fixer,” The bruise of the “believer,” The heavy silence that follows the crash of a dream That wasn’t tethered to reality.

    But still… I am. I am the one who measures the wind. And even as the “fall” screams through my nervous system, I realize the Cliff is an illusion Constructed by my own survival. I don’t have to hit the ground. I can simply breathe, Step back into the center of my own quiet land, And realize that I am the earth – And the earth does not fall.

    ~ Elizabeth Proett

  • The Art of Shutting Up

    I recently stumbled across a quote that hit me like a cold splash of water to the face. It asked : When was the last time you really listened – not just waiting for your turn to talk, or rehearsing what you’ll say next? My immediate, knee-jerk internal reaction? “Oh, I have a great point to make about that!”

    And there is it was. The irony. I was literally “rehearsing my reply” to a quote about how I shouldn’t be rehearsing my reply.

    It made me realize that for a long time, I haven’t been having conversations; I’ve been conducting tactical maneuvers. I’ve realized that most of us (myself very much included) don’t actually listen. We reload. While the other person is talking, we’re back in the kitchen of our minds, chopping up our own clever anecdotes, seasoning our counter-arguments, and waiting for that split-second gap in their breathing so we can serve our masterpiece.

    It’s exhausting. And honestly? It’s why so many of my “connections” have felt about as deep as a parking lot puddle.

    We have this frantic, itchy need to be the “fixer.” When a friend starts venting about their boss or their partner, my brain immediately shifts into IT-Support mode. I start building a three-point plan to solve their life. But I’ve come to realize that “fixing” is often just a polite way of saying, “Your discomfort is making me uncomfortable, so I’m going to give you a solution so we can talk about something happier.” True listening, the kind that actually builds trust, feels a lot more like holding a heavy box for someone. You don’t try to unpack it or tell them it’s not that heavy. You just stand there and hold it with them until they’re ready to put it down.

    I’ve been trying to experiment with this lately, and let me tell you – it’s awkward. There’s this thing called the “pregnant pause” that feels about ten years long when you’re used to constant chatter. But I’ve noticed something wild: when I resist the urge to jump in with a “Me too!” or a “You should try this” and I just… stay there? The other person usually sighs and says the real thing. The thing they were actually worried about. The stuff that was hiding behind the first layer of words.

    I’m learning to embrace the “W.A.I.T.” acronym: Why Am I Talking? It’s a humbling question to ask yourself mid-sentence. Usually, the answer is “to sound smart” or “to stop the silence.” Rarely is the answer “because this is absolutely vital for them to hear.”

    My goal now isn’t to be the most interesting person in the room, but the most present one. I want to be a vessel, not a megaphone. It means quieting the internal chatter, letting the “perfect” comeback die in my throat, and just being there. Because at the end of the day, people don’t really need my “brilliant” advice. They just need to know that for five minutes, they weren’t alone in the room.