Thursday, January 22, 2015

stay in the light































I've been paying lots of attention to the light recently. During the day, I'm stuck in a my new office that doesn't really have windows, so all of the light we see is artificial. Then I walk to my car and see how the setting sun gives the sky its gold hues, reflects pinks of the clouds, and turns the mountains to purple and deep reds in the distance. The whole ride home the sky gives me a show.

Today, I was going to escape my cube and eat lunch outside, but the temperature wasn't reliable, and I'm already cold. So I found a new nook by the large windows in the lobby. The seat was warmed from the light. I ate salad and read some assigned stories for a class I'm taking - fiction and poetry, which is a relief after some of the technical science I read for work. It might have been the words, but I think it was also the light that helped me feel something different. I had some new ideas, whereas recently I've felt a bit stuck and uninspired creatively. Even these words now are coming slowly and a bit stilted. But today was a direction: stay in the light.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

waiting for seeds to be dropped





The year has started off a bit stark for me. I sat pen in hand, prayer on tongue, eyes on the sky, but not much came in the way of lists or brainstorms or hopes for the new year. So I'm taking a cue from the earth: just let it sit fallow for a while. I think I've written about that here before -- how in some parts of the country, the empty branches and snow-blanketed grass feel like perfect company for this time of year. Because somewhere under there, the ground is turning, preparing to nurture all those seeds to be dropped in the upcoming months.

2014 held some big (dare I say life-changing?) moments for me: attending a writer's conference, traveling to Kenya, finishing a marathon, and another big one I can't quite announce here yet. And there were also some important commitments that I made -- like writing every day in May, like running every day between Thanksgiving and New Years Day, like refusing to tiptoe away quietly from every scary conflict that arises in me or with friends. These were daily decisions to stay the course, decisions that are still driving me forward today. 2014 was a field full of harvest. So my instinct was to quickly plant 2015 with the same. And yet every single gift of 2014 grew and appeared in its time.

And so an empty field is before me, and soon I will turn it over and let the planting begin.