On a cold, wet, winter’s morning, I got a phone call…
‘Our dad passed away at 4am this morning.’
Unbeknownst to me, my father had been dying in a hospital bed hundreds of kilometers away for days, weeks now. On the 19th of July 2012 he drew his last breath. What a difference a day makes…
In shock, I started writing. I didn’t want hugs or condolences so much as I wanted a clean white space, a deep well of words, and a process that emptied me of the torrent of things hurling themselves up from the storage rooms of my psyche.
I started writing, and I didn’t stop. I wrote every single day for 100 days. This book is those 100 days.
It was by far the largest, most consistent, most intense and most conscious creative and healing process of my life.
It changed everything.
I kept to no conscious storyline. I wrote what presented itself to be written. In moments of overtired, emotional haze, I wrote myself to peace… Or exhaustion… Or both.
I wrote about how it felt to meet an entire side of the family… at my father’s funeral.
I wrote about my mother and her death when I was 13.
I wrote about death in a dozen ways. I let my zealous mantra of ‘You will die one day’ change everything.
I wrote about sex and love and sex and money and doing the work that is in you to do.
I quit all of my other projects.
I began to redefine myself.
I became willing to let go of everything I had if that’s what it took to live my ideal...
In moments, I found my bliss like never before.
It was a 'write of passage' like no other.