After 16 hours of traveling from a remote village in Greece with my two children and no travel doula, I was really looking forward to the first week in nearly seven years that both my children would be in camp from 9am to 3pm. This would surely give me enough time to bang out another book or launch an empire. At the very least I could restock the fridge and unpack the suitcases.
Read MoreA few weeks ago, after running the same six-mile loop for several months, the thought, I must be getting pretty fast by now, emerged, so I timed myself. Turns out six months and 500 miles of training hadn’t made me any faster.
Great expectations are my specialty, believing I can have, do and be far more than what is probable. And while they say that if you shoot for the moon and miss, at least you land among the stars, you often land with a thud of disappointment, feeling that you should be doing more or better than you are.
A few days ago Griffin pulled a new piece of artwork from his backpack . Beaming, he held a rainbow in front of chest. “Read it!” he boomed. The top band of the bow read, “My Wonderful Dream Is…” In the cloud he wrote “a puppy”. I tried to ignore the word “puppy” and focus on the accurate ROYGBIV-ness of his rainbow, but he wanted to point out specifically what his wonderful dream is.
Read More2018 summoned me to step beyond the edges of my comfort zone, tracking me down when I tried to run away from my soul’s purpose, continually rerouting me so that instead I would run towards it. But as Steven Pressfield writes in The War of Art, “The more important a call of action is to our soul’s purpose, the more resistance we will feel towards it.” Resistance and writing go together like peanut butter and jelly.
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