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Permission

It’s OK to not know what you’re doing. To not know how to do it perfectly. How it will work out or turn out. Or even not to know how start.
You assume EVERYONE must know but you. They don’t. They were busy thinking you knew.
And rather than look a fool in front of all of those people, you choose just to not.

To not engage, to not risk, not advance, and to not grow.
Then you stand there in your own shadow disappearing, your soul dying. You sacrificed it to the fear of not knowing.
That would be me not writing for all those years.

And being so fearful of having the second baby I wanted, it took me to the very last-minute to do so.
So DO something, anything, in spite of the fear, even if it’s wrong.
Head into your life with intention having no idea where you’ll end up, engaged in the process of living. And you’ll absolutely without a doubt end up somewhere you never expected to go.
And you’ll like it.
This morning at breakfast, I said, “Anything worth IT is worth the effort”,as we ate our slightly crunchy homemade wheat biscuits and passed a baby back and forth.
I’ll be 47 in a week. I just had a baby. I’m writing. Life’s not at all what I expected.

I’m not popular nor am I wealthy. I work hard every day. And when I do something particularly tough or time-consuming or dreadful, that is the exact thing that I feel most proud of.

Waitressing Nightmares

I had another waitressing dream last night. They recur, these nightmare dreams. Since I spent so much of my life waiting tables, I go back to that job. The dreams go like this.

I am at the dream made-up restaurant and there is a problem. It could be one of the following. The tables are too many and I don’t have the time or menus or pad to write the order down with. I don’t have the uniform or the shoes or a section assigned to me. The tables are far far away from the restaurant or have just been taken by another waitress.

It’s all bad and stressful. Last night, the other waitress was taking all the tables and I was feeling like I wouldn’t be able to make any money this way. And she was way more efficient than me anyway. The old “why should I if someone else can do it better?” I’m unnecessary?

I am pretty good at translating dreams for other people. Sometimes mine are harder. Once I had a dream image of me sewing my face on with a quill pen. And I love that image’s literal quality. Because that’s what you do as a writer. You create a persona by the stories you tell and the way you tell them.

I am slowly inching forward with a writing career. It’s not moving faster than a turtle’s pace. And a recent bit of good news has probably got my subconscious a little worried.  I truly believe that my style is uniquely mine and no one can be me but me. So if me is what you want to hire, I’m the only one qualified for the job. And I was a damn good waitress.

Paid to Write

No doubt, my secret wish has been to be a writer. But I also knew that once I got paid, I’d belong to the graduating class. I got paid recently by the lovely Amanda at Easton Savvy for a piece (see it in all it’s published glory here). Ironically, it was also the piece that got me in the most trouble. Maybe one day, I’ll tell ya’ll about that.

So husband wanted to make sure I posted my pride. And I just had to edit to make sure the check writer wasn’t compromised. Here’s to hoping I get a lot more of these. You can find the other feature pieces I haven’t been paid for here.

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AFGO and just poundage for all

During a recent coffee talk, my friends introduced to me to “AFGO”, a tongue in cheek abbreviation. AFGO represents your chance at another opportunity for growth, plus an expletive. In less than a week, I received with my very own AFGO.

It’s weird when someone thinks you’re something you don’t think you are. And you want to say, why do think that. I never said I was that. In this case, I decided to try it out for size. I think I’m a creative writer not a business writer.

I met with a woman in need of written words to publish a local organic farm. She was the marketing person. I discovered she and this farmer have soul purposes. Even though I didn’t see myself as an informational writer for hire, I agreed to help. It was more than the promise of vegetables and free lunch. I knew I needed to pay it forward and acquiring karmic purpose too.

All my remaining resistance melted when I heard she wanted to healthily feed children in local schools with a salad bar in the future. The farmer practices sustainable farming, caring for the environment, and organic vegetables. He’d fed people through the food bank donating the “uglier” vegetables to the tune of fifty thousand pounds last year. And he has a rehabilitative work program on his farm through the Department of Corrections. Last but most, he offers affordable certified organic vegetables. That’s unheard of in grocery stores.

The piece for the farm took a couple of hours to write. My husband was on board with all that purposefulness when he helped me edit the piece . He said he’d like to pay me back for the same editing services he’d received recently from me writing a letter to our senator.  As a Libra, he fights for just causes regularly. He also informed me that our abbreviation for pound, “lb”, is a derivation  from the word Libra and its symbol of the scales of justice.

I say yes to the just poundage that is consciously consumed fresh vegetables. I say yes again to a community that has pride in its contribution to its members and its earth. Talk about a growth opportunity. Keep your mind open and you never know when you might stumble on some gratitude. Give what you can even when you don’t think it’s possible.

 

 

 

Saturday Chillin’

You know that daggone bug was still in my system slightly yesterday. I’m calling it the morning sickness flu. Thankfully, I just ate breakfast and feel normal. The up side is that I lost a couple pounds. Part of that is also due to not being my wine drinking self as well. And I am happy enough to have a glass or two this evening while we’re out. But home consumption will be restricted in the hopes that more pounds will miraculously drop off. If you know me, that’s big.

I am enjoying a Saturday morning alone in the house. Yes, it’s true enough. All by myself. Without anyone else here. Solo mio. And what do you suppose I’ve chosen to do? E-mails, vacuuming, and laundry. All the things you’d want to do if you had time to yourself. Company coming tonight and tidbits of Christmas are still lurking in the dining room. This was also the sight for floral arrangement-athon yesterday. Messy business those florals. And I’ve decided that the visual decorative arts are such a strong part of my “thing” that I will build the necessary platform in this blog for everyone to see what I’ve been up to. Show and tell and why not?

Am contemplating what next week will make me do. Because what I really want to be doing is this. Writing. Yes, when you do what you love, money may follow. but really, there’s everything to be said for the feeling of well being and accomplishment you get having birthed, added to your body of work, and completed a new piece of you. I’d love to get paid and published but I’ll settle for the world’s reward for my love’s labors. Stay tuned.

 

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