Time heals all.

But, it charges you in patience.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ Time heals all But, it charges you in patience ​ --------------------------------------------------------------- ​[Somewhere](=), the first single from my spoken-word album, releases next Friday. It's terribly unromantic to ask you to "pre-save" the poem––but [will you please "pre-save" the poem](=)? Pre-saving ensures that, upon its release, it will find its way to your ears. --------------------------------------------------------------- Some days, your heart is so heavy, you wish you could pluck it out of your chest and wring it out in the kitchen sink. You can't, of course. Instead, you must wait patiently as time sees to your wounds with her soft, invisible hands. So weightless is she, that most days you can't feel her touch. But, she is working. Ever slowly, she is working. If you could somehow bottle up the healing powers of Time into little pill capsules, you'd have the most lucrative prescription drug on the planet. Therein lies the problem. Time requires patience––and most of us aren't patient. We fuck things up before time has had the chance to salve and sew. We attempt to heal ourselves through distraction, ignoring the pain, only to find we feel less and less with each passing year. I can't think of a worse existence: to feel nothing. Several years ago, I fell head over heels for this woman in Denver, Colorado. I'd fly out to see her and she would fly in to see me. It was exactly how love is supposed to be in the first year––gorgeous and all-consuming. You know how the sun will bleed-out across the horizon like a pierced egg yolk before tucking itself into bed? It felt like that. I remember calling her the day news broke of the quarantine. We both knew deep down the party was over––but neither of us were ready to gather our things, slip on our coats and leave. With time, our denial gave way to acceptance and our acceptance, pain. In the months that followed, I recall thinking to myself: Will there ever be a day that I don't hurt at the thought of her? Will there ever be a day that I feel whole enough to love again? But, time healed the two of us. I fell in love again a year and a half later––and she has since fallen for someone she is now building a life with. When I look at her and I think about the love that we shared, I feel no pain––just an overwhelming sense of gratitude for what was, once upon a time. If you are in pain––be it in life, work or love––reflect on a time you were hurting so deeply and so gutturally. If you retrace your steps and walk back to this broken place, you will surely find a bed of wildflowers growing there. Raid them. Cut them. Bunch them into a bouquet. Place them on your kitchen counter. On the days when your heart is so heavy, you wish you could pluck it out of your chest and wring it out in the kitchen sink––don't. Instead, gaze upon the flowers on the counter and remind yourself that healing takes time. By [Cole Schafer](=)​ P.S. Don't forget to pre-save [Somewhere](=) wherever you listen to your music. --------------------------------------------------------------- Enroll in Raitā A writing retreat to Japan (without the airfare) ​ Two years ago, I embarked on a life-changing trip to Japan. I wandered the streets of Tokyo, drank in the back-alleys of Osaka, crashed in traditional Ryokans in Kyoto and walked along sacred deer in Nara. During the three mesmerizing weeks I spent there, I taught a creative writing course inspired by my travels. ​[Raitā]() is a short, seven day course taught entirely via email. Each day, I share my reflections on Japan's rich culture, history and lore and pair it with a creative writing prompt that will leave you sprawling for your pen. Together we will explore everything from the underground world of the Yakuza to the greatest samurai to ever wield a Katana. [CATCH YOUR FLIGHT]() --------------------------------------------------------------- For brands in need of pretty words "You know it's art, when the check clears." There are two kinds of art: - Fine Art - Commercial Art Fine Art is art you make for yourself. Commercial Art is art you make for someone else. Advertising is an example of commercial art. It must be functional. It must be clear. It must serve a specific purpose. Andy Warhol was talking about Advertising when he said… “You know it’s ART, when the check clears.” I run a creative writing shop called [Honey Copy](=), where I create commercial art for brands of all shapes and sizes. If you're in need of pretty words... [GET IN TOUCH](=) --------------------------------------------------------------- It's not how many––it's who The two kinds of impressions ​ An impression used to be an idea, feeling or opinion on a piece of art. I like this kind of impression. It requires thinking and discussion; a point-of-view. But, these days, an impression means something entirely different. An impression is a person who happened to scroll past your photograph or video or thought and lingered for a half-second (if that). Social media platforms place this number front and center as a means of valuing your work. This is backwards, though. If a man drops trout in the middle of a sidewalk and takes a shit, dozens if not hundreds of people would stop and stare. His maneuver would garner a lot of impressions. Many more than the man on the corner playing his heart out on his nylon guitar. But, which is more valuable? In an age that has high-jacked the word impression and made it something shallow, shiny and new, it's worth asking ourselves how we will choose to value our work. For me, it's no longer about how many but who. If my work can leave an impression (the original definition of an impression) on just one person who cares enough to really think, consider and form a point-of-view around what I've created, then that's worth 100,000 of the other kind. [FOR MORE DAILY MUSINGS]( --------------------------------------------------------------- [[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2024 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205