Posts Tagged ‘Passion’


The year is ending. Tonight, in case you didn’t know.

Ha ha”, you laugh. “Who doesn’t realize it’s New Year’s Eve? ”

“It can happen”, I warn. And I should know.

I was once invited to a New Year’s party and spent all of New Year’s Eve day planning what I’d wear and what I would bring to the party…the next night. I felt entirely ready and completely organized until my then boyfriend said;

“Ready to go?”

“Huh? Where?” I asked.

“Umm, the party?” He said, slightly incredulous.

“Don’t be an ass,” I told him. “It’s tomorrow.”

The moment I said it, my mistake oozed over me like slow melting wax, hot and cold all at the same time.

As we approach 2013, I am happy to say good-bye to the unfortunate and even content to leave the good that came along with it. I’m ready for new good.

I started this blog in March of this year and it has become a much loved, much needed part of my life. I owe a large degree of my small amount of sanity to it. I wish I could spin you a mind-blowing story explaining how I came to write. (I read someone else’s the other day and I won’t lie; I was a little envious.)

I was never privy to such obvious, fate-enforcing signs. I have simply always known that writing was something that I thought was pretty nifty. It also seemed to be one of the only things I was…sort of…good at. Most of all, I knew I was definitely at peace while doing it.

I am thankful to this passing year for many things and the renewed passion and opportunity in writing is a big one, but the thing I am most very grateful for is my family’s encouragement. They’re the clamps holding me steadfast to the unanchored dream trailing me through jungles, pulling me through sand and swooping me up, over and into the clouds.

Oh. And I’m thankful I’m not missing the party.

A happy, healthy and heartwarming 2013 to all of you.



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We’re not always at our best.  I should speak for myself, I suppose, but I like to think I’m not alone.

We get busy, we get tired and we get sick.  We. Get. Swamped.

But, for some reason, we plod on.  Why?  Perpetual responsibility looms, but we can skirt it.  Obligation drags us out the door, but we know we can avoid it.  We can hide from those things for a day or two.  Heck, some people manage to hole up a lifetime shirking the albatrosses of society.

Nope.  Although we bear those crosses, they are not why we get out of bed every day.

The mover, the maker, the motivator and shaker is purpose. Purpose comes home, slumps into a chair and says; “I’m rusty. Anoint me.”  Oil it and it’ll stay.

We can direct it.  We can twist it.  We can stretch it to the ends of the earth. It’s ours to dress in cute little hats.  We own it.

Its varieties are infinite; a drive to stand on top of the corporate world, an itch to ‘pwn’ domesticity (go figure), a stubborn bug to travel from country to country, a will to be a fighter pilot or an itch to be…oh, I don’t know…the greatest writer there ever was.  Ring a bell?

No matter what it is, whatever it may be that floats our boats and has us hanging on (if only by a slowly tearing page) our individual purpose which, by the way, magically translates into passion, is what keeps us going when the chips are down.

No, we may not always be at our best, but when purpose knocks, wet its whistle and you can’t ever be at your worst.

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Twenty…and a pregnant pause leading up to it. This may have seemed strategic on my part, but I really didn’t mean for there to be almost a week in between this and my last post. In fact, the delay pained me.

I could blame a cocktail fusion of bountiful duties, stresses and strains but those alone wouldn’t stand in my way. No…there was something else. Poison. Seeping in through breaks and pores and I, too hectic to see it.

Thoughts of redundancy crept in and took hold; feelings that what I had to say was useless, unnecessary, and, worst of all, uninteresting. After all, we can scoop out as much of the ‘useless unnecessary’ we want, but hand out uninteresting and the world stops. It stops, and so do the readers. Poison reigns.

As a result, this past week has been me, talking myself out of writing, telling myself no one will notice, no one will care…convincing myself it won’t matter. So, why slog on? Oh, woa-ez me.

My bouts with potentially potent poison have had me down in the fathomless folds of forlorn. Past visits to this dank, dark space have had me believing only I can get myself up and out and let’s face it, sometimes, the easy button just isn’t around; buried deep in the couch pillows or…under a slab of super thick cement.

This time has been different. It took me a while to clue in – I’m not alone. I have my interests, my thoughts, my words and a spot to call my own. I have expectant readers checking in, searching for fresh utterances. I have followers taking the time to comment, like and message and I have fellow bloggers gracing me with reblogs and mentions; all bestowing me with virtual high fives.

I love to write, but it can be an isolated endeavor. You are the antidote to the toxins that can sometimes course through my veins. I am truly grateful for your stake in my blog. I’m humbled by your interest in what I have to say. I am blessed that you inspire me to do what I hold dear.

You are why. I can’t thank you enough.

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