creative life

Goodness – Day Fifty Six

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“Watercolor Sunset” photo by L Weikel

Goodness

I just finished watching the Golden Globe Awards. I knew I’d regret watching all the way until the end of the program (vis-à-vis writing this post), but for whatever reason, I kept watching.

The movies that were nominated for Best Drama were an eclectic conglomeration, and the actors, both male and female, nominated for Best of their respective categories were also an interesting mixture of ages and characters (both on and off screen).

The tenor of the awards on the whole felt a bit melancholy to me. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

The entertainment industry in many ways not only influences our culture but also reflects it, and I’m not sure which comes first. Or I should say, I’m not sure whether we or the industry are the chicken.

The recipients of the last several awards bestowed, which are the reason I started writing this post later than even my usual ‘late,’ were worth the fleeting sacrifice of time. They were worth it because they each displayed what appeared to me to be grace and class.

Grace and Class

The attributes of grace and class are sorely needed in our society and in our hearts right now. We all know it. We all feel it. Obviously, that’s a sweeping statement, and I cannot truly speak for ‘all’ of us or ‘all’ of anything. But wow.

Watching Carol Burnett receive the first annual award in her name with her famous humor and genuine compassion for her co-workers and the opportunity provided her by her grandmother, and then watching the audience’s reception and loving appreciation of Dick Van Dyke…both of these moments were touching and tender. The poignancy of these moments was made even more tangible by the fact that both of these people are not only icons of entertainment. They’re good people.

And that, too, was a theme that was curiously present throughout the evening: when presenters or even recipients wanted to bestow truly profound praise on another, they made a point of appreciating the other’s inherent and basic goodness.

Goodness

Buttressing my blanket statement, above, is something I know I personally feel, but also sense is felt in a vast majority of our country: the need for a balm of goodness to soothe our raw and weeping souls.

We are bombarded on a daily basis with more and more selfishness and callous disregard of pretty much anyone else’s cares or concerns, safety, health, or even life. And it is hurting all of us. We know we aren’t like that; and we know most of the people around us aren’t, either. And yet we see and know it is all around us. Drowning us in hate and fear.

Thus, I was touched to watch Glenn Close react in complete and utter obvious surprise to her win for Best Actor (Actress) for her role in The Wife. Her acceptance touched me, particularly her dedication of her win to her mother, whom Close said had sublimated herself to her husband her whole life, only to admit regret for ‘not accomplishing’ anything right before she passed away in her 80s.

And Rami Malek, winning for his portrayal of Freddie Mercury of Queen – his acceptance was also filled with incredible humility, grace, and class. But when the film, Bohemian Rhapsody, also won for Best Picture, it was astonishing, really, to watch this young man deliberately stand aside in order to have all the attention and accolades go to the producer of the film and the remaining band mates of Mercury.

Mostly in body language, but conveyed in a language anyone with eyes to see could appreciate, this young man was behaving with inherent and absolutely lovely goodness.

I need to end this now. But my heart is a little less heavy having witnessed the goodness tonight. I hope it is a reflection of our culture, and a reclamation and affirmation of who we truly are.

(T-1055)

Never Too Late – Day Fifty Two

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Never Too Late

As we’re only drawing to a close the 2ndday of January (or for many of you, just beginning the 3rd), I’m trusting that the lustre of choosing to bring something nurturing or stimulating or creative into your life, as I encouraged in my New Year’s Eve post, has not yet worn off. And remember: it’s never too late to begin.

I find the thought of ‘bringing in’ new experiences or activities to our lives, and hopefully making them habit-worthy, simply tantalizing. I can’t wait to see and hear about how your new devotions play out in your perception and appreciation of your lives.

Discovering Doors to Our Future

It’s as if we’re opening a door to our future that we’ve barely even allowed ourselves to see before now. When we’ve looked in that direction other times, all we’ve seen is a wall because we needed to make ourselves perfect before giving ourselves permission to indulge in an urge to create something uniquely ours or engage in something that simply brings us joy.

And yes, even bringing in the opportunity to read more books is a creative endeavor. Because reading inspires us to live in so many more worlds than we realize could exist if we simply view our own experiences in our own finite bodies to be the limit of what is available to us.

The opportunity, though, to indulge in exploring an activity that has called to us, perhaps in a whisper for the first few years, but which has probably grown louder and more persistent as the years ticked by, can lead us places we might never, ever expect. And while the point of this new perspective is, essentially, to give ourselves permission to listen to our hearts, it can also lead to people outside of ourselves clamoring for more. Or to our passion saving the world. Or maybe even changing the course of history.

Early Choices Shouldn’t Define Us

In our youth-obsessed world, we often tell ourselves that we have to decide what we want to ‘be’ or ‘do’ with our lives by the time we’re 18. Some people are given leeway and permitted to explore who they are and what they want to ‘do’ in the world by taking a variety of courses in college.

I don’t know about you, but that was a myth for me (and I went to college a long damn time ago). You pretty much had to pick the area you wanted to get your degree in and were lucky if you got the chance to take a couple of electives in completely unrelated fields during your entire four (or so) years. Which makes me suspect that it’s even much more rare for young people attending college now to actually explore in that mythical, idealistic portrait painted of college life. It costs too much to lollygag around taking courses you will almost certainly see no tangible monetary benefit from taking.

I bring this up because I feel the vast majority of people walking around today were thrust far too early into making choices that influence everything about the rest of their lives. And they’re left wondering – even if only fleetingly, and ever so quietly to themselves – what it would feel like to immerse their fingers in paint and try to capture the beauty of that bluebird they saw perched on a fencepost along their walk.

As a result, we just deny, deny, deny. “I’m too old.” “It’s too late.” “I don’t know how.” “I have no time.” Oh, the excuses we mouth, each one of them killing our spirit a little bit more with each utterance.

Late Bloomers Are Real

Well, I want to hook you up to a very cool website that just might inspire you to keep up with whatever activity you decided to invite into your life this year.

The website is Later Bloomer, and is created by a friend of mine, Debra Eve. We met way back in 2014 at a writers’ conference in Taos, New Mexico.

I will let you explore her site and perhaps sign up to receive her weekly emails which always have something fascinating to teach me about the possibilities open to us simply by choosing to say yes to our passions instead of making excuses. Or feeling as if we missed the boat when we made life choices at 18 or 22. Or 30. Or…

Indeed, just today I received notification from Debra of a wonderful calendar she’s created for 2019 around the concept of ‘red letter days.’ Check it out.

This year is going to be different, you guys. I know it.

(T-1059)

Living in the Future – Day Fifty One

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Living in the Future

It’s hard not to get ahead of myself sometimes. When I’m pleased or feel excited, I tend to extrapolate and imagine how cool things will be “when _______ happens.” (And no, I’m not encouraging you to play Cards Against Humanity in this post. Although…that could be amusing. And you know which among you would eagerly offer a shockingly off-color suggestion for that blank.)

What I mean is, there’s a part of me that was, as my Irish sisters say, “chuffed” when I got to my 50thpost. And instead of just ‘being’ with that good feeling, I started extrapolating. “When I get to this day next year, I’ll be into the 400s! I’ll be writing my 415thpost!”

Aaarggh. I do not want to do that to myself! And yet I know it’s human nature and therefore futile to hope I won’t succumb to this temptation – and often. But it sure is tedious, always ‘moving the bar,’ so to speak, and assuming the elusive next goal will be way better and more impressive to achieve than this one. And what does it get me?

N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

Nothing at all. Except it does manage to snatch my present sense of accomplishment from the jaws of a healthy, yet un-inflated, self-esteem. Always keeping myself guessing, I suppose.

But I mention this not because I remained in that mind-space. I saw where my habitual thinking wanted to take me and I snagged it, brought it back, and stomped it into unconsciousness. (Just kidding! Seeing if you were paying attention.)

No, I saw where my habitual thinking wanted to take me and I did indeed snag it. But I just rolled my eyes, laughed at myself, and hoped I’d make it to #51, while enjoying the simple pleasure of having reached the 50th. And I’m mentioning all of this because I firmly believe we all need to remember that we’re not here to be perfect!

No matter how hard we try, we’re not perfect. And we’ll never be perfect. Why? Because perfection is not only unattainable. It’s boring. And we wouldn’t learn anywhere near as much as we do living in our imperfection.

Perfection is Unattainable (and Boring)

We’re not going to find much, if any, profound and meaningful satisfaction with either ourselves or how we’re meeting our commitments by reaching some arbitrary, magical number of posts published, journal pages written, photos taken, or books read per month. The sooner we realize that, the better.

And trust me, I remember when I used to think every one else could strive for – or be satisfied by – mediocrity, but I was different. I would persist. I would do ‘it’ (whatever exacting standard I set for myself) through sheer force of will. And man, while I would not trade the level of success I generally enjoyed for my efforts, I would lighten up just a little on the jumping into the future gig. Because as cliché as it sounds, it is sheer insanity to pin all your happiness on the successful attainmentof a goal, on breaking the tape, or on writing that 1111th post.

The test of our humanity is to figure out the trick of living our lives in fullness and balance as we strive toward accomplishing that goal.

And by that I mean setting a goal (i.e., committing to writing 1111 consecutive blog posts), and finding a sense of satisfaction and healthy pride in oneself every day a post gets published. Extra credit for those days when a post has the effect of speaking to the hearts of those who read it, for those are precious.

There is something to be said for showing up. For being willing to not always be some shining example of awesomeness that you wish others would perceive you as being. But if we’re honest? The ones we’re actually trying hardest to impress are the exacting bastards that live inside of us.

They’re tamable. At least I’m determined to give you a glimpse of how I make the effort to live with them. In balance. Here’s to 2019. May we LIVE this together! In perfect imperfection!

(T-1060)

Commitment – Day Fifty

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Commitment

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m pretty much phoning this one in.

I’m nursing a slight headache, I was a little brought down by yet another day full of low hanging clouds and relentless rain, and this is my fiftieth consecutive post!

Actually, that last part makes me smile.

I’m glad I’m sitting up here on my bed, with but minutes to spare before the ball drops and 2019 begins, and I’m writing this.

I find it fascinating that I feel so connected to you; and I do feel that there is a ‘you’ at the other end of this post. There are eyes reading these words. And I’m intrigued by this relationship I feel we’re cultivating.

If I didn’t feel something, I wouldn’t be sitting up here all by myself, writing this. But I’m not all by myself, am I?

Thank you for supporting me energetically and otherwise over the past fifty days.

I’d like to invite each one of you to join me in some form of devotion to yourself in 2019. Maybe contemplate not giving something up as you enter this new year, but rather bringing something in, instead.

Turning off the television and reading for an hour before bed every night.

Keeping a journal and writing at least one page (and preferably three – wink wink), every day.

Drawing or taking a photograph with your phone every single day to document your joy.

Realizing you are loved. And appreciated. Even if it is ‘only’ by yourself.

Thank you for walking beside me. I look forward to 2019 – together.

(T-1061)

Theraflu Fix – Day Forty Five

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Theraflu Fix

Regrettably, tonight is a Theraflu night. I’m staving off something; not sure if it’s a cold or a sinus infection or just a culmination of Christmas being yesterday and today being the 360thday of the year and the realization that there are only five days left in 2018. No matter what it is, Theraflu will probably fix it. That and perhaps getting to bed before 1:30 or 2:00 a.m.

I’ve always tended toward being a night person. I think it’s been true since I was little, actually, but it’s definitely been the story of my adult life.

During law school, night was when I would get most of my reading, studying, and writing accomplished. And since I gave birth to son Karl while I was in law school, that pattern pretty much set itself in stone, since he (and the next two, as well) were always great sleepers. Therefore, once all my guys were asleep (and yeah, Karl’s a morning person – big surprise), I was surrounded by my coveted silence. Yep. My evening silence.

Nevertheless, I have to admit that over the past decade or so I’ve only been staying up past midnight sporadically. Midnight literally became my witching hour.

But now I’m dedicated to my 1111 Devotion. My practice. My commitment. And in spite of my best intentions, in spite of my earnest desire to not always be pushing my nose up against a deadline, ‘crushing it at the last minute’ is apparently my default setting. And so, I hit ‘publish’ every night, right around 11:59 or thereabouts. It doesn’t matter when I start writing for the evening, either.

Decisions and the Adrenalin Rush

Because the drive to submit each post by midnight is so intense in those last forty five minutes or so, every single night I’m left with both a sense of accomplishment and a boatload of adrenalin pumping through my veins at 12:01 a.m. or so. And that means I’ve not been getting to bed until 1:30 – 2:00 a.m., consistently, since engaging in this devotional practice. Some days I’ve been able to snag a little extra time snooze time in the morning, but not always. Certainly not enough to make up for this new regime.

So it appears as though I have a decision to make, and the week between Christmas and New Year’s seems to be as appropriate a time as any to ponder my options. How do I make this new relationship sustainable? How do I keep from wearing myself out and sabotaging my practice?

I’ll keep you posted. (Ha. That pun was not intended.)

In the meantime, I’m taking a Theraflu tonight, and as soon as I hit ‘publish,’ I’m going to bed.

Thanks for sticking with me as I figure this out.

(T-1066)

Where are the Close Encounters Now? – Day Forty One

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Where are the Close Encounters Now?

We just finished watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

I remember watching it at a movie theater when it came out. As we watched it tonight, I was transported back to the days when I was in college, and then first married.

Watching that movie in 2018 yet remembering what it was like to live in 1977, I was shocked. Yes, our computers are light-years beyond what we had at our fingertips back then. And yes, today there would probably be just as many women as men scientists involved in such a rendezvous (let’s hope).

But I was stunned to consider just how precious little we seem to have succeeded in exploring more deeply into space on a personal level in the past 41 years.

Think of it – forty one years! Shouldn’t we be at least communicating and establishing relationships with other civilizations by now? Or have a base on Mars or Venus or both?

We landed a human on the moon in 1969. I was ten years old.

When my mother was ten years old, in 1927, Lindbergh flew across the ocean.

Forty Two Years

There were only 42 years between having the technology to fly across the ocean and having the technology to not only fly to the moon, but also successfully land on it, and return to tell about it!

So, really –  it makes me question just what the heck we’ve been doing these past 42 years. It seems we’ve lost our way. Our curiosity as a country appears to have lost its focus on great scientific innovation and exploration of the natural world, in particular the universe (and multiverse), and turned instead to navel gazing and wondering how we can exploit the Earth most effectively to earn a small amount of people more money than they could ever imagine spending.

I know innovative research is still taking place. But I also know that there seems to be a lack of communal vision of working toward new horizons. Not to conquer, but to discover. Not to exploit, but to explore.

Is it just me, or were you hoping we’d be way further along the road to astonishing new discoveries, vistas, and opportunities by now?

Then again, I have my experiences of living my now to compare to the ‘reality’ depicted of every day life in the U.S. in 1977 (based upon the movie). They made fun of parapsychology in the movie. I have my degree in Psychology and made the mistake of mentioning parapsychology to the grad student I was a research assistant for as an undergrad. She ripped my head off when I even mentioned the word ‘parapsychology’ (and my interest in it).

And yet…look at me now. What I do. My education level. How I am of service to others.

Are the shamanic journeys I’ve learned to take the actual mode of exploration that’s going to shift the evolution of our world? Not what I would have thought, but think of the possibilities of uniting science and shamanism.

(T-1070)

Alchemy (Frenchtown, NJ) – Day Thirty Nine

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A Local Treasure

My favorite place to buy eclectic, eye-catching, and beautiful clothes is a shop called Alchemy, in Frenchtown, New Jersey. I’ve been shopping at this local treasure for quite some time – around 15 years, if I’m not mistaken. The owner, Cleo Sharplin, and her husband, Barry, bring artistry and visionary appreciation for color and unique cuts and fabrics to the Delaware River Valley, where I live.

In early November, I introduced my daughter-in-law to the treasures at Alchemy. I was sure Cleo would be able to find something amazing for her to wear to an event that was on the horizon. Based on my rave reviews, Tiffany was eager to meet Cleo and experience her ‘eye’ and perspective and the way she could ‘put things together.’

We were devastated to discover that Cleo had recently taken a serious fall down some steps in her home and was hospitalized with some dislocations and broken bones – including some vertebrae in her neck. Her recovery was looking scary and extended, and we could see the extreme concern and worry in Barry’s eyes as he described her condition.

Keeping It Together

For his part, in an effort to maintain normalcy, Barry was taking time from his own job to keep the store open, while visiting and staying by Cleo’s bedside when not at the store.

After making our purchases, we assured him that we would keep both of them in our hearts and hope for the best in her recovery.

Since that visit, I have thought of them often. Every time I’d go to New Jersey to put gas in my car, I would drive by Alchemy, wishing I’d gone at a time when the store was open.

Over the past week or so, both Cleo and Barry started popping into my thoughts on a much more frequent basis. I felt a twinge that I didn’t want to admit. And I kept thinking I needed to physically stop in and bring them something, some token to remind them that they really were in my thoughts – that I hadn’t just mouthed the words while at the store to shop.

The urge grew insistent this week. Indeed, yesterday I became a bit aggravated with the way my life became dictated by others’ demands, because I’d really thought I was going to get over to check in with Barry that day.

Finally, today, in spite of the pouring rain and dismal, 37 degree chill in the air, I made a point of getting myself to Frenchtown. With a few small gifts (I figured some delectable chocolate from Pierre’s in New Hope could bring a smile) and a card, I entered the store. I saw Barry in the back of the store, and went directly to him. I re-introduced myself, assuming he wouldn’t necessarily remember me from a few weeks earlier. But I also immediately launched into asking after Cleo’s condition.

Unexpected Diagnosis

His face said it all. I gasped, and whispered, “She didn’t pass away, did she?” No, she hadn’t, admitted Barry. But just last night he’d received word of a devastating – and completely unexpected – diagnosis.

All I could do was hug him. And hug him some more.

The whole time I’ve known Cleo and Barry, they’ve been a unit. Best friends. The love and chemistry has always been palpable.

Barry and Cleo will know more of what to expect in the days to come. I promised I would check in on them next week. In the meantime, Barry is faced with some profound and life-altering decisions regarding many things, not least being the fate of Cleo’s beloved Alchemy.

Facing the Future – How You Can Help

My point in writing this post today is this: If you have the need for an amazing outfit, ranging from something for the most elegant soiree to an evening at home (think New Year’s Eve!), please stop by Alchemy. He needs to move their inventory. I believe there is a 30% storewide discount, as well.

This is a win-win situation: you will find something cool that no one else will be wearing (and everyone will enviously notice and comment upon) and you will be helping out a wonderful pair of lovely human beings who are facing huge and terrifying transformation in every area of their lives.

There are many items there that would also make great gifts.

If you have the means, I urge you: Show a little love to this sweet, creative couple. Let them know we are a village – and connected in perhaps the most miraculous ways.

Alchemy Clothing – 17 Bridge Street – Frenchtown, NJ – 08825

(T-1072)

Evening Silence – Day Twenty Six

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Evening Silence

I’m sitting here trying really hard to think of something even remotely interesting to write about tonight.

I’ve turned off the tv much earlier than usual (or at least, earlier than I used to), as I’ve done every evening since beginning the 1111 Devotion project, because it’s just way too distracting to have it on while I’m trying to write and thus the only way I’ll get the job done.

I must admit: I love listening to the silence, especially the silence that descends upon a room immediately upon clicking the tv into oblivion. It never fails to soothe me, no matter what I’m doing in the moment. And just like now, I wonder why I don’t seek evening silence out more often.

I’m calling it evening silence because I don’t seem to ever be tempted to turn the tv on during the day. Of course, a lot of times I’m not in a position to turn one on during the day. I’m not bringing this up as any ‘badge of honor’ sort of thing. It’s just a fact that I only rarely become aware of – but am appreciating much more often as a result of engaging my commitment.

Appreciation: A By-Product of My Act of Power

I guess you could say this appreciation of the evening silence is an unexpected but delightful by-product of this Act of Power. And in a way, it is a means of garnering power.

Even if I might be otherwise watching a program that edifies me in some way, I don’t think I get as much out of it, quite honestly, as I do the silence. Because if I lapse into the normal routine I was in prior to making this commitment, I would retire upstairs as soon as I turned off the tv. I might read my book for a few minutes, but in truth, my actual presence in and appreciation of the evening silence was minimal.

I find myself thinking back on when our sons were growing up, especially the two older ones, Karl and Maximus. Back when Karl was in elementary school, we didn’t get cable at first. We were limited to the three channels (3, 6, and 10) of the major networks, and maybe some UHF channels. Granted, that didn’t last long. But I know it made a difference in the way we spent our time.

Indeed, I sometimes wonder – especially lately – whether that is not a significant liability to my efforts to write the sequel to Owl Medicinehttps://amzn.to/2M6st6B. I’ve become addicted to the political news shows, especially. In some ways, I feel it is my civic responsibility to remain aware and informed. And goodness knows, it becomes harder and harder to peel our eyes away from the latest ‘news.’

But really, I have to ask myself: Is it worth my time? Wouldn’t I rather be spending time in the evening silence, immersed in one of my beloved books? Or writing one of my own?

Yeah, I think I would.

(T-1085)

Library Annex – Day Twenty One

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Library Annex

I’m excited.

Granted, it doesn’t generally take a lot to make me happy, but I haven’t experienced this particular ‘excitement’ in quite a while.

Karl and I engaged in some serious decluttering this weekend. Oh my goodness; I feel liberated.

Decluttering and Books

Most of my efforts were directed toward rearranging our books. We are incredibly lucky to have a wonderfully extensive – if eclectic – collection. They can be broken down roughly into about ten categories:  metaphysics; shamanism (a subcategory, it could be argued, but we have so many it has to be its own category); writing; science fiction; art/creativity; reference (yep, I refuse to get rid of our bound World Book encyclopedias, various dictionaries, thesauri, atlases); memoir; general fiction/young adult/feminist literature; plant/nature/environmentalism; and divination.

When we purchased our home back in 1985, a significant appeal was the ‘library’ (really just the dining room), which had bookshelves taking up all the free space on every single wall. The former owners had painted the walls behind the stained wooden built-in shelves a dark green, mimicking the deep green felt of libraries of yore.

Naturally, we were obligated to fill those shelves.

And through the years and the raising of three sons, through both lean and flush times, our greatest single indulgence as a family was books. In fact, for many years, it was our tradition to go to Borders on New Year’s Day. Although, truth be told, any excuse would do – and it didn’t have to be the start of a brand new year.

Borders and Barnes & Noble

Travel soccer tournament in Virginia? No problem! We’d just scope out a bookstore that we could retreat to between games. Ideally, we’d look for a local independent store, but for a while there, the easiest finds were the ubiquitous ‘big box’ purveyors, namely the aforementioned Borders and Barnes & Noble. They also had the best hours. Any trip anywhere, no matter where or for what purpose, would always be made better by tracking down a bookstore.

We’d often find something small and local almost everywhere we went because, being the odd ducks that we were, we would seek out the ‘metaphysical’ bookstores. Our experience was that the ‘big box’ stores were resistant to carrying selections out of the mainstream – at least at first. Or maybe I should say, their selections of shamanic books, for instance, were so pathetically inadequate that they would rarely be worth our time. (In other words, they carried Castaneda. Period.)

The appeal, though, of the bigger stores was the selection of magazines they carried. Son Karl would inevitably snag the latest copy of Fortean Times, and as we drove home or to the next soccer game, he would read us outlandish snippets from its pages.

Maximus and Sage would almost always find something to read, at least while we browsed. And lot, a lot, a lot of comedy found its way home from these excursions. Indeed, every Farside anthology published can probably be found somewhere in this house.

Come to think of it, Karl and I used to get teased by our fellow parents at soccer games because we’d never show up without each harboring a book.

Library Annex

Anyway…

My delight in what we worked on this weekend stems from the fact that the bedroom that used to be Maximus’s is now entirely a library annex to our downstairs branch! This has enabled me to free up the shelves downstairs – no more books piled crossways on top of those regularly shelved – or I could say stuffed. And the cool thing is that it doesn’t feel as though I am making room to buy more books, although that will always remain a possibility. (Just so everyone knows, we are dedicated library-goers as well.)

Rather, freeing up our shelves and creating an upstairs library is more of an energetic opening than anything else. It feels like we’re creating more room to allow our creativity to flourish.

And that, my friends, is truly exhilarating.

(T-1090)

Following the Breadcrumbs – Day Five (T-1106)

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Following the Breadcrumbs

Following is a glimpse into how I sometimes use my journal to put together the seemingly random pieces of information and messages that cross the threshold of my perception.

Last Sunday, shortly after choosing my “cards for the day,” I found myself writing in my journal about the epiphany I’d just had as to how I could honor the memory of my son Karl’s life by engaging in a creative devotional practice – in my case, writing blog posts – “for at least one year (but perhaps 1111 days?),” I wrote. Just the thought of that made my stomach drop.

Where in the world did that cockamamie idea come from? Turned out I’d happened to accidentally click on a post by Seth Godin earlier that morning that had something to do with doing “it” 1000 times. And “it” was writing a blog post.

Seth Godin’s Advice About 1000 Posts

The full title of the post? “The first 1000 are the most difficult.”

“For years I’ve been explaining to people that

daily blogging is an extraordinarily useful

habit. Even if no one reads your blog, the

act of writing It is clarifying, motivating,

and (eventually) fun.”

 

The date Seth’s blog landed in my inbox? October 31st. Why had I saved that post? And why had I just clicked on it that morning?

Yet Another Clue, Another Breadcrumb

As these connections gained clarity in my mind and I started writing them out in my journal, this happened:

“AND THEN – just NOW (I swear), I couldn’t remember Seth’s last name as I wrote the above paragraph, so I looked in my gmail. Couldn’t find what I’d accidentally clicked on this morning (about the 1000) and I wondered if I deleted it. So I searched “Seth” (to get his last name) and the blog post that appeared first and quite prominently (because its title was at the top of the page, and in bold, because I hadn’t read it) was from November 8th and was entitled “If What You’re Doing Isn’t Working.”

“No shit. Seth’s Blog:

“If what you’re doing isn’t working:

Perhaps it’s time to do something else.

 

Not a new job, or a new city,

but perhaps a different story.

 

A story about possibility and sufficiency.

A story about connection and trust.

A story about for and with

instead of at or to.

 

Bootstrapping your way to a new story about

the world around you is one of the most

difficult things you’ll ever do. Our current

story was built piecemeal, over time, the result

of vivid interactions and hard-fought lessons.

 

But if that story isn’t getting you where you

need to go, then what’s it for?

 

It’s entirely possible that the story we tell ourselves

all day every day is true and accurate and useful,

the very best representation of the world as it actually is.

 

It’s possible, but vanishingly unlikely.

 

What if we search for a useful story instead?

A story that helps us cause the change we seek

to make in the world, and to feel good doing it.

 

If you can’t solo bootstrap it, get some help

to install a new story.

It’s worth it.”

After writing this out in my journal just as I did above, I wrote: “Ummm, wow? And as I look back on the search results I see that the “1000” blog post was sent on October 31st. Why in the world did I just see that this morning?? And HOW DID I MISS THE ONE I JUST QUOTED VERBATIM?”

I Have to Give Karl Credit

“Yeah – maybe this is Karl’s way of getting through to me? Asking me to engage in a daily DEVOTION that, by honoring it and my devotion to him and HIS creative life, will open me up to honoring myself and my creative life.

Perhaps this is a new approach to MY story? Is it possible that I just followed some magical breadcrumbs?

If so, THANK YOU. Thank You, Karl, Spirit, my Guides and Guardians. Now please, please help me harness the discipline to engage in this devotion. Hmmm, maybe that’s why JAGUAR was underneath my contrary Dolphin this morning!?”

And that is the way I use journaling to help me follow the magical breadcrumbs in my life.

**It is 11:57 p.m., so please forgive this not being my best effort!