How was your week? Here's a rundown of mine, some recommended memoirs, and a story about work and rest.
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Whether or not you’ve followed our earlier episodes, I hope you’ll take a moment to sit down with a bowl of popcorn (or Gummi Bears, Junior Mints, etc.), and catch this latest blockbuster! Trust me, there’s no need to review, or even know the characters, and you’ll find the plot easy to follow.
So here goes…(cue Star Wars music).
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
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Two years ago my husband crushed his elbow in a biking accident. He was disappointed to miss out on what had become an annual tradition for us…the Michiana Ride for Hospice. While Tom, arm in sling, sat at the registration table, our son Seth took his place so I wouldn’t have to ride alone. (Truth be told, he was riding for the free beer at the after-party!)
Seth and I had a great time bonding through biking.
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Maybe it’s my Enneagram 7-ish-ness. Or the dreamer in me. But finding new things to start has never been the issue. It’s sticking it out to the finish that’s the real kicker.
I often start with gusto, but slowly lose steam as time goes on. It’s the way I do meal-planning, and gardening, and knitting, and several other pastimes. Self-discipline is hard. Stick-to-itiveness is not in my blood.
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Our culture has become one of isolation and fear. We build fences to block out the noise of the world, to protect our children, and to keep strangers out. We avoid eye-contact with people. We prefer to close our windows and doors. We keep ourselves hidden.
I wonder what would happen if more of us would open the windows and stick our necks out. What would happen if we sat on the front porch for all the world to see?
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In this media-filled, work-centered, goal-oriented culture in which we live, taking time to observe, listen, and open up our hearts takes effort. And practice.
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We were beginning to feel like someone was trying to tell us we were NOT supposed to enjoy a spring break day in Chicago. We were trapped in a fortress of cement and steel, two stories underground, with the glorious sights and sounds of Michigan Avenue on the surface above us, and out of reach.
There was only one thing left to do.
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Writer's block. I guess it was bound to happen.
I've spent the past six weeks feeling guilty about not writing, "thinking" about what to write, mulling ideas around in my head, discounting my ideas as uninteresting, feeling like I'm "forcing" a topic just for the sake of the blog...
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