Feed yourself good stuff

More than a week ago my husband and I hit the road. In under three hours behind the wheel, we exchanged our busy, commitment-rattled lives for a slower pace—the surge of a Northern Arizona canyon creek our white noise for a full week. He fished. I wrote. We hiked. A lot. We practiced yoga each morning in front of our cabin’s picture window—the view, beyond, a veritable canopy of leaves and needles and bark. Dappled sunlight. Two bird houses swaying in the gentle breeze. We played games; cooked hearty meals in our compact kitchen; ventured into town on a whim. Read books. Took walks at dusk. Slept with the windows opened and woke without alarms. We savored thunderstorms that rolled through the canyon and cooled the air with rich, earthy scents. And I was reminded that healing takes place when we feed ourselves good stuff. Sometimes all it requires is an open road and a date with Mother Nature.

How do you feed yourself good stuff?

The only guarantee in life

If you spend too much time
thinking about a thing,
you’ll never get it done. ~ Bruce Lee

In my recent post—“Are you ready to do the thing?”—I talk about the one thing we’ve always dreamed of but have never done. For each of us, that thing probably looks different. Yet no matter how many good intentions we entertain, it won’t happen unless we make it happen. Or until we’ve run out of time. This, for me, is the catalyst. Because if I imagine a future in which I never did “the thing,” I could never forgive myself. I’m at a point where I’ve exposed my fears—of failure, of wasting time, of not being good enough (you name it, I’ve thought it)—and simply run out of excuses. And here’s the bottom line: There are no guarantees. We will never know if we’re good enough, or if we’ll fail. But there is one certainty: we won’t know unless we try.

What are you waiting for?

Image courtesy of digitalart at FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Are you ready to do the thing?

Now that I’ve been reading and writing again (see “A new way of thinking…”)—essentially, practicing that which I want to become greater at—I can’t deny a rekindled motivation. And the vision I have for the future is now more than a pipe dream: it’s a plan. Complete with deadlines and manageable goals mapped out. During a recent workshop exercise, the leader had us close our eyes and imagine ourselves a year from now. That we’ve done “the thing” we’ve always dreamed of—written that book, earned the degree, gotten that job, took the trip, retired early. What does it feel like? How about three years… five years… 10? How does it look? Then, we repeated the exercise, only we never did the thing. It’s a year from now: how do we feel? How about three, five and 10 years later? What do the people closest to us say about it? The truth is: time goes by whether we do the thing or not.

What’s your thing?

A new way of thinking: what I learned on ‘sabbatical’

After my last post, penned two months ago, the mojo I’d regained (see Change up the rules…) suddenly vanished without warning. I felt uninspired. Specifically: unmotivated to read or write. Worse yet: I feared I’d lost my love of the written word; hence, my sabbatical of sorts. But I never strayed far. I attended a writing workshop for six weeks to keep my finger on the pulse of creative plotting strategies. I also wrote an article for an online trade magazine. And, during it all, I picked the artistic minds of several writers and learned a new way to approach my writing: with permission to play. Not only does this concept eliminate the pressure to “get it right the first time” (be honest, does that ever happen, anyway?), but it also inspired a vision for one, three, five plus years down the road. Most importantly: I’m reading and writing again. As a wise yogi once said: Whatever we practice becomes greater.

What do you need to practice more?

Image source: http://www.mindylacefieldart.com.