mission
Let the essence flow,
the genie out of the bottle, be.
the return of the books

stopped reading to jot that in one of the notepads on my desk

Innumerable notepads that multiply because I decide almost every other day that this is the one I will follow. So I have, as mentioned before, paper piling up everywhere. I cut paper in half and staple or paperclip (can I verbalize that? Can I verbalize verb? =) them together into bundles that I take around the house with me, start one upstairs, in my bedroom, for writing, blogging, thoughts, to-dos, whatever. Anywho, will use the “return” somewhere, for sure.
 
So now I’ve stopped reading altogether, will read later today, as I have the impetus to write. My hands hover over the keyboard, pick up and drop a turquoise colored pen, what do I write? Blog, novel? What? So, boring black ink pen in hand, I start.

WHAT IS MY MISSION?

as an author — blogger — human being — daughter — mother — wife — artist  — gardener — culinary aficionada — golfer — beauty + music enthusiast

I have been trying to do something but do not know what that is. There is a calling, an almost inaudible whisper, around me. Looking for that elusive purpose, although it might have already happened. It’s possible (Freudian slip: wrote impossible + had to double-cross out the im).

elusive

ē-ˈlü-siv | -ˈlü-ziv:

a: tending to evade grasp or pursuit b: hard to comprehend or define c: hard to isolate or identify

I learned recently from a third party (how frou-frou) that I made a big impact on someone I met over thirty years ago. HOW. IS THAT. POSSIBLE? When the mere memory or mention of his name, which doesn’t happen often, filled me with shame and regret? With thoughts of that was one of the worst times in my life, not the young man, but the whole period, the me in my head (and I’ve had many dark periods). I would physically shiver, mentally brush it off. Furiously. And yet it was positive. I don’t know the particulars, the why or because. What I do know is that my mind cataloged it improperly; granted: on paper perhaps not, but, in the big scheme of things, why did I hold on to it with such disgust? In the end, it doesn’t matter, except to dearly remind me that

what I think … may not be

As I like to point out, though seldom, as most of us don’t like to hear it: thinking something does not make it a fact.

Went back to the list and wrote answers in blue ink. Amazingly enough, almost all the responses point to: give — teach — heal.

Most things I worry about never happen anyway.

Tom Petty