Whatever Sparks you discover, there are easy ways to get started now. Ways that don't have to be time or money intensive; don't ask you to leave your job; don't expect you to upend your life. But, and this is important: YOU have to do the work to Discover Your Sparks. They will rarely demand your attention. The pilot light in the stove never flares unless it's turned on; rather, it burns steadily and out of sight until it's asked to do more.
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Removing another rock
I"m sitting here this morning, even as I type this, knowing I'm putting energy into something besides memorizing this script. I'm delaying the hard work, procrastinating to avoid the frustration of feeling inadequate that this talk doesn't just roll off the tip of my tongue. While some of working on this post might be about avoiding the memorization process, I believe I have to get to the root of this, or this talk is never going to live inside me, despite the fact that it was created by me, lived by me.
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My big takeaway from these last 365 days of disruption (and it’s got nothing to do with COVID)
But I didn't know, until I went back to read these old blog posts this morning, that I had started using the same words weeks before I left. I don't remember writing that phrase or even thinking that. And if I hadn't written it down in a place that I could go back to, it would just be lost to me. Maybe I wouldn't have been heard or understood the clear voice by the side of the field. Maybe the revelation wouldn't have even happened.
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Change is inevitable; how you manage it is up to you
This weekend, seven years ago. I thought my heart would break in two and never recover. It was a time I had dreaded for a number of years: the weekend I took Quinn to college. I would never have chosen for Quinn to leave. I loved having him across the hall; I adored seeing him everyday, and our 18 years together flew by all too fast. But the thing is, my life, all our lives, couldn’t grow, evolve and get even better, until we accepted that first hard change of moving Quinn to college. Let me tell you a story from Quinn’s drop off day: Freshman weekend there were a…
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Phyllis sits at the head of the table
My bedroom is at the end of a hallway that runs the long length of house. Every morning, making my way down that hallway, I have fallen into the same detailed narrative: There's a man, quiet and so still he almost seems asleep, sitting at the head of the table where my creative work things are splayed out: my grandparents' courtship letters, my books, last night's lecture notes from the course I am teaching, rocks, leaves, sticks and other bits and bobs picked up from my daily country road walks.
