Purpose – Voices in My Head

Hopes, Dreams, and Expectations

Okay, I confess—I am a little disappointed—a rather uncharacteristic feeling in the face of my usual Pollyanna worldview. Life on my planet is bass-ackwards. I recognize, of course, that my mild disappointment is but a drop in the ocean compared to current world events, but still—it’s my drop, my ocean, my planet. So in the overall scheme of things, my mini-discouragement doesn’t really matter very much, does it? Or does it?

So I ask myself—what is the source of this momentary dismay?

Well, my follow-up appointment on the status of my shattered patella dashed any hope of being sprung from the cumbersome knee mobilizer that I’ve been sleeping with and dragging around behind my walker for the past six weeks. Instead, I was sentenced to another six weeks of same old-same old. Bummer. The good news is that healing is much better than expected, surgery is off the table, and physical therapy can begin next week. Focus on the donut, Julia—not the hole.

Then, the dream of soaring sales of my newly released book, Voices: Who’s in Charge of the Committee in My Head, is—for the moment at least —nothing more than a mere pipe dream, but hope springs eternal. Perhaps reality manifests only when it receives a little help from the dreamer.

At the onset of my first six-week sentence in the Lazygirl, I had high hopes for a miraculous transformation from flawed human persona to heavenly angel with ginormous wings. Apparently, I slept through the first opportunity, so I have been given a second chance. That’s the thing with us humans, I figure. We are given endless second chances and opportunities to move ahead on our way toward miraculous transformation until we figure out how to get it right.

Some of us are simply slow learners. Well, I hope I get it right this time around so that I can be sprung from my knee trap and released back into the wild abandon that lives behind the wheel of my car. Meanwhile, I’ll do my best to do my best. I’ll attend to business, write blogs, dream dreams of healed knees and soaring book sales, and cross stuff off of my list of things to do—all the stuff that I promised myself I’d do during the first six weeks, but didn’t. Man, is that ever a long list.

Well, at least these are the things that I say I will do. But will I? Ah—therein lies the question. Can I be trusted to keep the promises that I make to myself? Have I followed up on my hopes and dreams in the past? If I fail to live up to my own expectations, will I become my own judge and jury, or will I simply become an observer and say, “Huh. Well would you look at that? Maybe there’s a better way to do it in the the next round.”

So again, my inner voice (the noisy one) launches into overdrive with questions that seem to defy answers. Does my disappointment really matter in the overall scheme of things? Do my thoughts and feelings make a difference in the world? Do my hopes, dreams, and expectations have an impact on my life, or on the lives of others? Where is the quiet Voice of Reason that has answers to these mysterious questions when I need It?

Oh, We are here, patiently awaiting your realization that you have wandered away for a spell. We know that you are aware of your wanderings, and that you have allowed distractions to lure you away from your inner being; We know that you feel as if you have disappointed yourself yet again. Your discouragement comes not from outer circumstances, but from within the part of you that yearns to reunite with your True Self. Your salvation will come when you realize that the only way for you to be sprung (to use your word) back into freedom is to reaffirm your commitment to doing those things which you know are in your own best interests, and in the best interests of the world.

In your wanderings, you have temporarily lost sight of your mission and purpose. We encourage you to reignite the flame of expectancy. So dear one, hope your hopes, and dream your dreams, and know that the power and energy of your True Self will fuel their manifestation. Coupled with faith, you cannot fail.

Know that We love and support you; We stand behind you always; We are ever ready to be the wind beneath your wings as your soar toward the highest and best within yourself. You have as many opportunities as you will ever need to realize your True Self, and we joyfully await your arrival at the ultimate destination of the Soul.

Thank you, dear Friends, for helping me to reconnect with my Self. As I do so, it suddenly occurs to me that my one drop in the ocean does indeed affect the entire ocean. Meanwhile, should I become lost amidst the waves again, I trust that you will come and find me.

If the focus of my mind becomes the reality of my world, then what is it that I wish to manifest? Well for starters, how about an ocean of love?

That sounds like a mighty good place to start, right?

And by the way, I am happy to report that as I come to the end of a newly-written blog, yesterday’s disappointment has morphed into today’s gratitude for second chances. Six more weeks to manifest hopes and dreams. Hallelujah. Ground hog day lives on!

A final note from a reluctant author: self-promotion is the bane of this writer’s existence, but I’m going to do it anyway. After all, how else will hopes and dreams become reality if I’m afraid to give them a little push? So, here goes folks: Please check out my book on Amazon. Voices: Who’s in Charge of the Committee in My Head? For more information, see Something New is on the Way (October 31, 2021). I thank you so much!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Note: The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

Life in the Lazygirl

You know how much I love hanging out in my Lazygirl, right? Well, lucky me—I have been sentenced to The Chair for the next couple of months, courtesy of a klutzy move and a shattered right kneecap. If Covid wasn’t enough to do the trick, I have been given my very own personal timeout to reevaluate and reassess my life.

I trip over my own feet, break a bone, and marvel at the creative antics of a clever Universe that provides me with an opportunity to sit still long enough to pay attention. Sit. Stay! But will I listen? Visions of the Roadrunner with his legs spinning a mile a minute zoomed through my head, as I careened from one room into the next, desperately trying to keep up with a body that was charging at light speed ahead of my feet. It gives new meaning to hit the floor running.

So I’m sentenced to The Chair. Talk about a choice moment to decide if I’ll revert to my slothful old ways so sorely in need of repair, or if I’ll rise to the occasion and use the opportunity to forge ahead and recommit to my spiritual path and purpose. Or maybe check all of the above? Is this another test? If so, I seem to be flunking—at least for now—but there’s still time to make the necessary in-flight corrections before I Roadrunner myself straight into the afterlife.

So far, I’ve been stuck in the needs-repair place. It’s a lovely spot to visit for a while, but as a permanent parking place, it leaves a lot to be desired. If nothing else, it is a splendid opportunity to practice what I preach. Again? Do I have to? Up until now, the Lazygirl has been my all-time favorite parking spot. I wonder—will I still feel the same way once I’m sprung? Or will I flee like my pants will catch fire if I dare sit?

The needs-repair place includes heavy doses of procrastination. Where have I been since my last blog written nearly two months ago? What have I been doing? Why have I been gone for so long? Why am I dawdling? Aw geez. It’s always something. Always a choice about how I wish to live life in my lane. Or in my Lazygirl.

I have been captive for over two weeks already, and what have I learned so far? Well, I’ve not been doing the things that make me happy—not writing, not blogging, not doing much of anything that does much to increase my sense of self-worth. This current state of affairs is making me feel grumpy, useless, and downright disgusted with myself.

Those feelings are not helpful, uplifting, or good for the psyche. Is it okay to be nonproductive and still love me in spite of myself? I decide, right? Oh my—we’re looking at the tip of the iceberg here. There is so much to discover, unearth, and delve into. Do I want to see it? Or would I rather turn on Say Yes to the Dress and zone out watching brides make themselves happy by finding the perfect wedding dress? So far, I’ve said yes to the dress. What is it that I am trying to avoid? Whatever it is, I want to get over it, because it’s not good for my mental health.

It’s time to move on. I’m not quite sure where I’m moving on to at this point, but for now I’ll take one moment, one day at a time, and since that’s all I have, I’ll do my best to talk myself into making the best of it.

But here’s the thing—Just the act of writing this blog is enough to lift my spirits and give me hope. And it’s enough to make me realize and remember that I am the one who decides what I think and feel about myself, and about the world in which I live. I am the one who creates my beliefs and reality. Clearly, it’s better to shatter old useless, worn out thought forms instead of kneecaps, and allow the subtle realm of light to become known and seen.

Now that’s enough to put a smile on my face and dance a happy jig—well, just as soon as my knee is back in proper working order. Meanwhile, I’ll dance a jig in my heart and wait until the rest of me catches up.

PS: There really is a reasonable answer to where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, but I’ll talk more about that in the next blog, so please stay tuned for an announcement about what will be coming soon! Oh, and by the way, if you click on my website, you won’t get very far because it is not fully up and running yet! Stay tuned . . . See you soon!

A Little Bit of Willingness

It’s a lovely morning, and my Lazygirl and I are huddled together contemplating the start of a new day. I sit down to meditate and my mind marches me into the kitchen to see what there is to eat. I do that a lot lately. Pretty much since the start of the pandemic lockdown, I think.

Pre-pandemic, I had myself in proper working order; at least I thought I did. I’d conquered my unhealthy, fattening habits like, smoking, drinking too much wine, and overeating. If there is anyone out there who has ever hung out in an “anon” group, you’ll know what I’m talking about. One can abstain from smoking and drinking, but it’s mighty hard to abstain from food.

Well, so anyway, I had it all together with my eating habits. Tiny breakfast, BIG lunch, often at a restaurant, a light graze at dinnertime, and I can still button my skinny jeans. Snatch the restaurant out from under me, add Covid, and well, it’s all over. Suddenly I can’t stay out of the kitchen and I’m wrestling with my corrective jeans. It’s humbling.

Given my extensive past experience in the “anon” world, I should be able to get over this, right?

Oops—wait—I’m shoulding all over myself again. I should be able to get over that too, right? Cheech. It’s always something!

Anyway, I’ve tried my usual tactic of asking my Self for help, but for some reason, breakfast still seeps into my morning meditation, and the kitchen continues to beckon like a shiny gemstone in the sunshine. I have asked—why have I not received?

Slowly it begins to dawn on me that maybe I am low on willingness. Maybe I am too lazy to do what it takes to eat a healthier diet, or too unfocused, or too comfortable with my head in the fridge to be bothered with changing my ways. Or maybe I just really don’t want to make a commitment to change.

By necessity, I’ve moved from restaurant fare to new recipes that I try on myself that are idiot proof and easy; recipes with pasta, recipes that provide easy leftovers for later. Later comes frequently these days—often in the middle of meditation, or while writing a blog. Food beckons, I forage, and eat to satisfy whatever seems to be missing, whether I’m hungry or not. Do I listen to my body? Nah.

Pre-pandemic, I did a lot of self-congratulations for having enough self-discipline to be trusted alone with a with a cheesecake. Then along came Covid and interrupted my routine. I fell off the wall, broke into bits and pieces, and now I have to put myself back together again. Pride goeth before a fall, it is said, and aren’t I just the perfect example of that? So much for the back pats. Again I say, it’s humbling.

One of the lessons that I have learned in my lofty experience of anons and such, is that the success or failure of any desired change begins with willingness. It is wholly dependent on the willingness to be totally and completely free of whatever obstacle stands in the way of happiness, whether it is a cigarette, a glass of wine, a hunk of chocolate cheesecake, or an unforgiven anger. Without willingness, I’m doomed.

Sometimes it isn’t easy to get to true willingness. There were many reasons why I wanted to quit smoking for example. It’s a disgusting habit. It’s unhealthy. It’s expensive. It burns holes in things. My clothes and hair smelled like an ashtray full of stale cigarette butts. It was becoming harder to smoke in public places. My smoker’s cough was frightening. It wasn’t good for my self-esteem

I really wanted to quit, and so I acquiesced and opted for willingness. But didn’t work. If I was willing, why wasn’t it working?

After another round of serious soul searching, I discovered the truth. The bottom line was that I was not truly, truly willing. Yes, I wanted to give up the filthy habit, but the fact was, the part of me that loved to smoke was reluctant. I was focused on what I perceived that I would be losing. I was not totally, completely, wholly, willing to quit smoking. I was my own obstacle.

Then I received a idea from my trusty Voice. It said, “Add a willing.”

So I did. I was willing to be willing. Ah. That helped. Maybe it would be good to add another willing or two, just for good measure. So I became truly willing to be willing to be willing.

About two weeks later, I woke up one morning as a non-smoker. The habit simply let go of me of its own volition and, unlike many unsuccessful attempts in the past, the desire to have “just one” cigarette went up in a puff of smoke and vanished into the ethers, never to return.

A three-pack-a-day smoking habit simply dropped out of my life after thirty-five years. All it took was just a little bit of willingness. Or two.

So now I’ll have to get busy, put my money where my mouth is, and ask myself if I’m really, really willing to remove my head from the fridge. If not, why? What’s in it for me to continue a habit that makes me unhappy—and uncomfortable in my skinny jeans?

Hmm. Am I being ruled by my tastebuds? Am I looking for comfort somewhere outside of myself rather than finding it within? What might be keeping me tripping the light fantastic into the kitchen? I don’t know the answer to those questions right now, but I think it might behoove me to do a little digging to find out. Meanwhile, I’ll work on increasing my willingness.

Here’s a tiny hint about how willingness works—I’m beginning to realize that I don’t feel very swell after one of my unscheduled visits to the feeding trough. It’s a clue. Maybe soon I’ll wake up and realize that I’ll feel a whole lot better if I forego all of those unscheduled trips. Maybe one day soon, I’ll easily zip up my skinny jeans, and discover that I’ve returned to my pre-pandemic size and sanity. Who knows?

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know how I do. Meanwhile, would you care to join me in a bit of willingness?

A Butterfly Kind of Life

Have you ever watched a butterfly zip from flower to flower and linger just long enough to extract the sweet essence out of each one? Or have you ever seen a sloth just hang upside down in a tree watching the world as it passes by? As I meander down the path of my spiritual growth, I have observed that I embody the tendencies of both. Mostly I live somewhere in between.

Every so often I conduct a one-to-one-life review and write myself a report card that, sadly, does not always read very well. It’s a little disheartening, for example, to find that there has been little, if any improvement in the subjects of perseverance, commitment, or laziness. My friends might scold me for being so hard on myself, but they needn’t bother, because that’s one subject that I definitely ace.

One such friend gave me an adorable stuffed sloth in response to my claim of being one. It sits on a stool in the corner of my bedroom and reminds me that procrastination becomes laziness and laziness becomes procrastination. As a child, my family used to accuse me of getting up earlier so I could loaf longer. Apparently I have done my best to live up to their expectation of me. Maybe they were just being helpful and giving me a head’s up about an upcoming major life lesson. Welcome to my sloth self.

My butterfly self is another story. Between the two of us, another friend and I have racked up a total of five marriages (six if you count one repeat performance by a slow learner). Betwixt and between marriages, there have been a series of jobs in varying occupations all with a life expectancy of about six years. Apparently I have earned my butterfly wings.

All of this flitting occasionally leads to self-judgment. Why do I—and so many others—have the tendency to focus on those parts of ourselves that we perceive as being flawed? Why instead, do we not write report cards on those parts of ourselves that deserve honors? Why pick on ourselves rather than praise ourselves?

There is nothing quite like a visit to an ashram to open the eyes of the soul. Years ago, a one-week stay at the ashram of a guru provided me with the perfect picture of my life in a nutshell. In an ashram, service (seva) is an integral part of the stay. Assignments are doled out to each sevite upon arrival and dutifully completed day by day. I was given a butterfly assignment, flitting from one job to another, while my steady, stable, consistent, reliable traveling companion was assigned a Xeroxing job that kept her standing in one spot for the entire week. We each had the perfect opportunity to view our entire life history in the space of seven days. I admire her tenacity. I judge myself for not being more like her. Add to that the pitfall of comparison and it becomes a double whammy.

This morning I awoke with the renewed awareness that what I do does not matter. More important is what I think about what I do. My life assignment in this classroom earth is to learn and grow. My curriculum is tailor made to suit my own particular path. If it includes the experience of flitting from job to job or marriage to marriage, or to see that self-criticism blocks the way to self-love, so be it. Perhaps it is the vehicle best suited to burn through karma at the speed of light, or maybe it’s the speedy route to enlightenment. Who knows? And who am I to judge?

It occurs to me that my blog-writing history is a mirror image of my life because it reveals my days of ups and downs, days of struggling with some aspect of myself that I perceive as imperfect, and other days when I love myself exactly as I am. I can see where a reader might be thoroughly confused, as I sometimes am when I flip back and forth through the pages of my life. It dawns on me though, that I am simply a reflection of so many others like myself who wrestle with the occasional love-hate relationship presented to us by the ego.

It is gratifying to know that my spiritual quest will be successful, regardless of how long I lollygag along the path, or how often I stop to smell the roses, or zone out in front of the TV. I’ll get where I’m going eventually, and meanwhile, I’ll focus on enjoying the journey and let go of the idea that I am anything less than I am—a spark of the Divine. And I’ll set an intention to tip the balance with more Divine Spark days than doldrum ones. What a good idea!

In spite of my slothful and flitting butterfly ways, there has always been one constant that drives my life and leads me from one place to another. My vision of reaching the top rung of the enlightenment ladder and stepping into the next realm of existence fuels my passion and desire to graduate from classroom earth with honors. Heaven here I come. I’ll see you there. Eventually.

The Gift of Regret

Today my grand twins turn the same age that I was when my daughter was born. Eeks. Enjoy life while it’s happening folks, and don’t wait till you get the end of it to look back and ask yourself where it all went!

Somehow I managed to make it to this end of life in once piece—maybe a little worse for wear, perhaps, but still functional nonetheless. When I was younger, my goal was to get to my sunset years and be able to look back and say that I reached the end with no regrets. Honestly? I have to admit that I didn’t quite make it to my goal because there are a few of them sprinkled throughout my life. Those regrets are the parts and pieces of myself that are woven into the tapestry of my life. I see them not as regrets, but as badges of honor, for they are to be revered for the gifts that they have given, the lessons they have taught, the forgiveness they have brought.

Regrets are reminders that sometimes goals are set but not met, that failure to achieve the desire of one’s heart is not a failure at all, but a signal that perhaps the heart needs to go in a different direction. Disappointment is a fork in the road that points to an opportunity to either redirect desire onto a new path, or to let go and walk away. Throughout my lifetime, I have taken both roads. Often, I have asked myself, is walking away giving up? Or is it the Soul suggesting that the correction of a wrong choice might be a preferred option? Perhaps there are no wrong choices, but rather opportunities to engage our free will in the play of trial and error until we get it right.

There are times when I allowed self-doubt to stop me from pursuing the desires of my heart because I lacked the faith in my ability to pull it off, whatever it was. And there were times when I was struck with a flash of inspiration and charged ahead full steam and became so immersed in pursuing my dream that there was no room for self-doubt to sneak in to undermine my plan.

A friend recently told me about Allison Hadden, a motivational speaker engaged in a battle with cancer, who says, “As scary as it is to accept, all of us are going to die – yet none of us know when. It’s time we start confronting this reality and living life like there’s no time to waste.” If ever there were a poster child for pursuing purpose, she would be it. Clearly, she is not daunted by her illness, but instead is using it to inspire others, and she is not giving up.

Nor have I given up on my one primary vision in this lifetime—to live life in a way that would ultimately lead me out of the quagmire of ego and personality, and into the peace and calm of a heart and soul centered life. That vision has led me down many a garden path—some strewn with lilies, some with thorns, but every road taken has led me one step closer to my destination. I am grateful for the thorny roads, for they have led to the realization that a path of lilies is a path of true joy. Never give up on your dreams, dear ones. Hasten as ye go for there is no time to waste.

Plugging Up the Leaks

I’ve been trying to work my way up to a nap, but leaks keeps getting in my way. Plug up one, and another spouts forth to replace it. There’s a leak in my washing machine, one in my ceiling, others in the ceilings of beaucoup residents in the building sending plumbers like mice with their sharp little teeth scurrying up and down between floors chewing gaping holes in the walls in search of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I am living in a very holy place these days. A day without the report of a leak is a good day. Unfortunately, today is not one of them. No nap for me.

As I ponder the “Why me, God?” question when confronted with a call at an odd hour from a frantic resident screaming “WATER”, I am reminded of a phrase well known to those on a spiritual quest, “Be careful what you ask for.” It dawns on me that just this morning I upgraded my intention to adopt a stance of harmlessness, selflessness, and right speech. Oh boy. Be careful what you ask for. Apparently, the Powers that Be listen very closely and are Johnny-on-the-spot to respond.

With one finger stuck in the dike and an ear glued to the plumber’s hotline, it occurs to me that maybe our current leak-a-thon is providing me with just the perfect opportunity to grab myself by a new attitude and start to practice the art of paying closer attention to what goes on in my head. It would probably sound a wee bit irreverent to say, “Gee, thanks Universe”, but the truth is, I asked for it. Ask and ye shall receive.

Every now and then, I fantasize about what it would be like to hang out inside the head of a person who is spiritually enlightened. The Dalai Lama for example, or Jesus or maybe Mother Teresa. How and what do they think? Do they spend 24/7 praying and meditating? Do they have a sense of humor? Do they wonder what’s for dinner? Do they roll around in Heaven all day forgiving everyone whether they need it or not? Do those who still walk among us in the world think in the same way as those who have departed?

Such imaginings expand my mind and send me on a merry chase in search of role models who give me hints about what might lie ahead. They show me a picture of I want to be like when I grow up, and provide the incentive to for me to run like the wind in hot pursuit of my goal, like the adorable little pink pigs at the California state fair running for the reward of cookies and cream at the end of the race.

I know there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or maybe some cookies and cream. I know I’ll get there eventually, but in the meantime, I’ll just keep on plugging up leaks and practice the fine art of harmlessness, selflessness, and right speech. I’m not sure what all of that means, exactly, but somehow, I’m quite sure that I will soon find out. That ought to keep me busy for a while.

Pardon My French

Somewhere between getting my bones out of bed today, slogging into the kitchen for coffee, and making my way to the Lazygirl for my morning visit with myself, I had an epiphany. Since the confines of the pandemic, my life has morphed from an outer one to inner, and my days begin and end in the Lazygirl. The in-between is anybody’s guess, but the one thing I know for sure is that the beginnings and the endings are my favorite times of day.

I really covet the safety of my morning and evening sits, but sometimes the in-betweens can present some really tricky situations, some related to my membership on the board of directors of the condo where I live. Many folks ensconced in the world of spiritual growth call such challenges AFGO’s. Another Effing Growth Opportunity. Oh great! Another AFGO! Pardon my French. (Why do we always blame the French for the use of vulgarity?)

We’re all faced with AFGO’s from time to time, some simple, some whipdoozies. The question becomes, what do we do when one comes our way? How do we deal with them? If you’ve been following along, you know that one of my favorite techniques for handling tricky challenges is the trusty head-in-the-sand trick. You also know that there’s a pony hiding somewhere amidst the manure. Somewhere between the ostrich and pony, there is buried treasure.

In my experience as a board member, we are often presented with conflicts that wander around amidst the wants of the people, the needs of the property, and the vagaries of personalities. It gives new meaning to “You can’t please all of the people all of the time.” It’s a conundrum of the highest order.

My experience is that whatever the size, shape, or form, an AFGO presents an unparalleled opportunity for personal growth if one has the courage and willingness to extract the head from the sand and dig through the manure long enough to find it. The reward of the search is healing, renewed vision, restoration of sanity, and an opportunity to choose love over fear. If we find common ground and agree that we’re all in it together, then in the end rough edges are smoothed out and peace is restored to mind, heart, and home. Well, one can only hope, right?

As I sit all nestled in the safety of my inner sanctuary and comfort of the lone Lazygirl, I know that every AFGO strewn across my path, both past, present, and undoubtedly future, has provided a life lesson that has pushed me one step closer to the achievement of my life’s purpose. Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? Yes. Is it fun? Not always, but once in a while it’s downright hilarious. It helps to know that the Universe is equipped with a wonderful sense of humor that brings comic relief when the going gets tough. And by the way, if you decide to stick your toe in the water and pan for the gold, you should know that you will never walk alone. The hand of one who has gone before will reach out to help you along the way, while another will reach out to welcome you to your destiny.

The Soul of Service

Hmm.…no blog yesterday. That’s twice in one week. What’s up with that? Am I slipping? Am I copping out on my commitment? Good question. I have no idea. It does give me pause to wonder, though.

Amidst my ponderings about commitment, I keep hearing the words, “Be true to yourself” in my head. What does that mean, exactly? Again, no idea. Sigh. It looks as if this is shaping up to be one of those all-questions, no-answers kind of a morning. Out with the journal. Start writing.

Twice this month there were five blog readers. Five! Is it worth spending whatever time it takes to crank out a blog every day if I am writing in a vacuum? Might it be that readership is waning as a reflection of my own questionable commitment? Is it time to alter my writing plan and downsize to every other day? Is my commitment actually in question? Or is it simply that I have lost sight of my vision, mission, purpose? If I crank up my enthusiasm and recommit to my writing plan, will readership increase? And by the way—who am I writing for, and just who is it that is making this commitment, anyway? Who decides?

I recently went to a small family celebration in honor of a newly-minted doctor of pharmacology, who just completed a grueling internship at a hospital. One of her friends, a nurse, wowed us with her party planning skills—cupcakes topped with red and white capsules, pills, band-aids, and all things medical; there were personalized face masks for all, and a glittery gold banner adorning the wall. It was obvious from the expression on her face that sharing her party planning skills brought great joy to others as well as herself.

She was a reminder that every one of us is born with some sort of special skill, gift, or talent, sometimes buried, sometimes obvious. We are not fully alive unless and until we discover it within ourselves and find a way to express it, not just for our own enjoyment, but for the joy of others as well. Whether it is expressed as a hobby, vocation, or avocation is irrelevant; what matters is that creativity be expressed. As we use our talents, they grow. If we ignore them, they will disappear.

Was it worth it to the nurse wannabe-party planner to spend her time and energy doing something to make someone else happy? Judging by the glow on her face, I would say so. Is it worth it for me to spend my time and energy doing something for five people or a hundred or just one, even if the just one is myself? If it makes only me happy, if it brings me joy, is it worth it? The sharing of a gift is a service to the soul of others, sometimes in ways that we may neither know nor understand. What matters is only our willingness to share it.

Well, so there you have it—the answer to my commitment question all tied up in a neat little package with a pretty bow and some icing band-aids and pills on top. I’m writing for myself as an expression of my own creativity. Is it worth it? Yes. Does it make me happy? Yes. Is being happy being true to myself? Yes. Ah. Good to know. The world won’t end if I miss a day here or there, so long as I keep the goal in sight, and my eye upon the donut and not upon the hole. See you tomorrow folks. Or maybe the day after . . .