It's a wonderful life.

June 4, 2015

     It's a sleepover life.

 

     It's a 30th birthday dance party life.

     It's a cozy life.

     It's a field full of flowers life.

     It's a cute animal life.

     It's a BBQ with friends life.

     It's a breakfast with family life.

     It's a wonderful, lovely, fun, full of love, miraculous life. And I'm glad it's mine.

     It's late--very late, I know--but as promised, here are a few sentences from the writing I've been working on the past few weeks:

     Every person in the world has a favorite place. And most times, that favorite place is somewhere grand. I, too, have a favorite place. Even though my favorite place is a humble hill, it is by far the grandest place I've ever known. 

     Thankful for a wonderful life. For a lovely life. For a life full of love and miracles. Thankful for places to write the words that my soul longs to tell. Thankful for the rainy, cool weather. The best conditions for good, solid writing. Thankful for more hugs and kisses and for more love than I deserve. Thankful for a night well spent on writing.

Dear Fear,

     I was filing papers in my classroom this afternoon while my students were in music class. I don't like the quiet. So whenever there are quiet moments that need to be filled with noise, I turn to my tried and true method of silencing the silence; The Office. It was a Halloween episode. I had seen it at least 30 times. (Not an exaggeration.) But that's the funny thing about watching things over and over again. You pick up on things that didn't register the first time. Or the thirtieth time. I heard this as I was filing:

     "Fear plays an interesting role in our lives. How dare we let it motivate us. How dare we let it into our decision making, into our livelihoods, into our relationships. It's funny, isn't it, we take a day a year to dress up in costume and celebrate fear."
-Robert California

     Yes. How dare we? More specifically...how dare me? This spoke to me because I've been dealing with a different kind of fear as of late. This kind of fear makes me question myself. It tells me I'm not good enough. It tells me I can't do it. It tells me that there aren't any words left to say. It tells me that people will hate me. Look at me differently. It tells me that I'm not special enough, or great enough, or smart enough to do it.

     Allow me to explain. While I stopped blogging daily, I haven't stopped writing daily. Even if it's only just a small note in my phone, or something scratched out on scrap paper. What I am working on now is this: a book. My book. And the fears that have risen up because I have started this new project are ones I have not much dealt with before.

     This is how I'm going to stare this new sort of fear in the face and tell it to go to hell: I'm going to write. And then write more. And some more after that. And every day I will write until my book is done. And if it gets published, great. And if it doesn't, great. The reason I'm writing is because I have to. I must. Writing is like breathing. And if I can't write, I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't live. Dramatic, you say? Perhaps... But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I must write. So I'm going to. And I'm going to do this: once a week, I will write a new blog post. Inside each new blog post will be one sentence from my writing from that week.

     So there. Take that, new stupid fear.