It’s different for each of us. It’s worth the contemplation.
For me it is to feel grounded, active, on purpose, productive. It’s when things happen around me and I’m prepared to face them, to get curious and to find out what’s behind them.
Realness is to stay connected – to the real world, to reality, to my responsibilities.
And it is also to stay alert to new possibilities, without prejudice.
For a while I wondered whether keeping a journal might be about avoidance. That finding refuge in the ramblings of my imagination and the gazings at my navel might be a way of kidding myself out of being real.
But no. Quite the opposite.
For me keeping a journal is not to be an ostrich with my head in the sand. It is not to daydream or deny.
Rather it’s a way of getting deeper into what reality actually is, for me. Deeper into where it lives and can be found.
And what I’ve discovered is that the most real thing there is in my experience lives in my heart.
The more I tune into it, the more I act from that place, the more real I become: the more people tell me “You’re real.”
So these days I make it my daily practice to hang out with my heart. It’s the place of courage, and, being adjacent to the breathing organs, of inspiration. It’s where love and truth and desire and joy and kindness and playfulness and curiosity are born, and borne.
I sit in meditation, and then I take up my journal and allow my pen to move across the page. The voice of my heart comes through loud and clear. The words flow. All forming coherent ideas, never forced. Or at least whenever it does feel like hard work, like squeezing blood from a stone, I know it’s because I’ve somehow shut myself off from my heart, and I am painfully denying my reality.
Because keeping it real happens naturally when we give voice to what is in our heart. Our heady ego might shoot it down – perhaps yours is right now as you read.
You might just discern, beneath the noise, a little whisper of reality coming from your heart.