It worked because I had the raw material already loaded in my brainspace. Output cannot exceed the input, much like the artificial kind of smarts that has everyone worried, excited, scared or lazy. A creative mind is critical, too; the ability to make connections between disparate things only works when that mind is filled to brimming with preloaded images and thoughts and concepts.

To quote Steve Jobs: “Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things.”

Isn’t synthesis another word for creation? Making something new from a pile of material, whether physical or mental?

On a recent walk I was grappling with a decision I am turning over (and over and over) and I realized I was missing information; solid facts and examples of best practices for my next step.

I can mine the ore that is stored in my brain, but if I’m looking for gold in a coal mine the buckets will be full of the wrong substance.

Substance -- another word loaded with meaning. It basically means stuff; the physical matter of things. Substances can be a chemical drugs, intoxicating or stimulating. It can signify the important part of a story or concept. To be of substance means to hold a quality of significance or validity.

Maybe that is why I am picky about that which fills my thinking mind. Sure, I watch trash tv to chill in the evening, mostly goofy comedies that turn my brain to mush (hence the limited consumption). I choose not to support entertainment that is violent, based on war or guns of any kind, not even zombies and end of the world themes. It severely restricts what is available but maybe that’s a good thing, challenging myself to read instead. Is it just me, or does a guilty pleasure serve to rest that busy mind and offload the silent worries of the day?

Curating the input of my own actual intelligence is important. I gave up listening to silly, humorous even inspiring podcasts on my walks, choosing instead to soak up the beauty of God’s creation. My recent walk led me to notice the spring flowers popping up in gardens and I gave thanks for their color. I took deep breaths of fresh air, noticing a slight humidity. I stopped to talk to a squirrel (I know, crazy) and listened for new, unrecognized birdsong.

I returned home no closer to solving the lingering question of my next steps, determined to research possibilities and add input from which to mine the best output.

I have faith that raw material absorbed over the decades is buried deep in the mind field, not gone completely. Things learned today can be reaped tomorrow. The foundation of my AI (actual intelligence) is bolstered with every snippet ingested. New information gained will serve me well, but only if I am intentional about where I find it and how I process it.

This connects two of the principles by which I strive to live: Observe Your World and Be a Lifelong Learner. Watch what goes on in your world, be open to new images but also possibilities. Never stop taking in new information by whichever means suits your type of learning.

AI is a phrase that brings fear to many, excitement to others. Like all technological advances, it can be misused or abused. We take many past advances for granted today and truthfully, cannot live without them. Radar, satellites, microwaves, airwaves, television, computers and the world wide web to name just a few. AI is no different. The trick is to not allow it to steal or dull your actual intelligence. Anyone add in their head anymore? Or even spellcheck on their own?

Creatives have a strong drive to bring something new and beautiful into their world. The thought of leaning on a machine to pop out a story or a digital image is horrifying. There is a valid fear that the world’s consumption of art, entertainment and even education will be overrun with computer-produced drivel. Just last night I learned of AI classrooms with a human present but only for the purpose of monitoring behavior and progress. All else is fed and driven by digital content. What will become of writers and artists and educators who thrive (and serve) by thinking of new ways to view, explain and protest events of their current world?

I have faith that there will always be room for human-made creations. I believe we cannot exist as a striving-for-peace society without them.

Embrace AI, the actual kind. Foster it by observing what is going on around you. Be open to new connections and ideas. Be picky about the diet you feed it. The type, quality and quantity of the output is dependent on the input. A strong, full and creative human intelligence bolsters one’s ability to navigate the fears and doubts of the artificial kind. You will be better equipped to discern the true from the false, the helpful from the harmful. Have no fear. AI is here to stay, but so is the matter, the substance, of your Actual Intelligence.

We would say yes or okay and grab on for the bumpy ride. After a day of “hanging ons?” I asked him how to say it in Swahili. Shikiria, pronounced like Shick-a-dee-a. We all repeated it in our own way to help us remember the word. Marina laughed at our attempts to speak the local language; Chickadee, Chickyrona (for a big puddle) and even Chickychicky.

One of our riders kept a look out for animals and loved to shout Chickadee when she saw conditions of the road deteriorate into questionably passable mud ruts. I was thankful that we had advance notice of rough times ahead, especially after witnessing other vehicles getting stuck. We always stopped to help any way we could. It was a rule of the road, because who knew when we might find ourselves spinning wheels and flinging mud?

Hanging on? I can still hear Maina’s cheery voice offering the warning that was both comforting and encouraging. We got this.

One time he took a chance to cross through flowing waters rather than turn back and go a much longer way. I asked him if we would make it. Without hesitation he said, Yes. No problem. We will make it. Then laughed when I suggested he was trying to convince himself as well as us.

We made it. No problem. We bounced and leaned and hesitated through that newly hatched stream. We didn’t get stuck, or worse, tip over.

Sometimes in life we feel like we are hanging on, just barely. Adults know there is no escaping those tough times. Not if you are living life fully, that is. After all, treating life as a spectator sport means to merely watch the happenings of others. You might as well become a gooey starchy potato sitting on a couch, streaming fictional dramas on your screen of choice.

Sure, one could survive that way, but would it be living? The potholes and setbacks and even the temporary sinking feelings serve to build confidence in our own stick-to-it-iveness.

We love stories of hardship, heroes who pull themselves up by their bootstraps, beat all odds and make their way. We may fool ourselves that they did it all on their own, but I wonder about mentors, teachers, and leaders who offered help or even something as simple as an encouraging word.

Shikiria.

I can’t imagine navigating through dirt roads turned treacherous by rains without a friend or loved one reminding me to hang on. Experience is a great encourager. I’ve been through tough times. I survived. I can do it again. So is faith. Sometimes it is the inner voice that encourages, especially in answer to prayer.

“I got you,” God says. “Hang on.”

I recently shared stories of modern-day miracles while facilitating a Sunday School lesson. Bizarre cases from rare mushrooms popping up overnight in time for a couple to sell them to local chefs and pay the rent, to luggage zippers getting stuck and preventing authorities from discovering the contraband Bibles hidden within. I’ve heard many stories from people I know who were stuck somewhere as they traveled the world to help others. Maybe there was money needed to make the next leg of the journey home, or empty medical supply cabinets. Deliverance from the rough patches came in unexplained appearances of the money or supplies needed.

Coincidence? Our human brain can only comprehend miracles by our own limitations. But it is no coincidence that God is watching out. He responds to our calls for help when we are hanging on. Often in unexplainable, bizarre ways.

What mud puddles have you traversed of late? How did you get across? Did you sink? Tip over? Go under?

Hang on. You may find help where and when you least expect it. Have faith in future answered prayers. No matter how you pray, God is whispering, Shikiria.

You may go through life giving these laws nary a thought, but they are proving right without fail all day every day. We couldn’t live in this world without gravity, but it is barely a friend to anyone with an aging body. Even inertia can bite us in our growing butts if we lounge too much on our comfy sofa.

While in Kenya we heard about efforts of wildlife conservationists to reduce the lion population in order to protect the Mountain Bongo in Aberdare National Park. Our guide told us that when the lion population disappeared, the endangered Bongo population was protected but the hyenas suffered since they fed on the carcasses left by the lions. It may have been an unintended consequence of their necessary action. Hyenas are a wily bunch and they are surviving, no problem. We heard how they hunt in groups and work together to bring down the weakest of a herd, say of Cape Buffalo. Let’s just say they go for the most tender and exposed part of their anatomy. Poor animal is devoured by the feasting hyenas as it no doubt writhes in pain. Gruesome, I know. Circle of life and all that.

I didn’t find any backup articles to verify what we were told, but the cause and effect is easy to imagine.

I was reminded of a children’s book by Nancy and Eric Gurney called The King, The Mice and The Cheese. As fantasies go, a king happily lived in his castle eating the cheeses he loved. So did the mice so he gathered his wise men to get rid of them. The short version is that every solution to the problem created a bigger problem until elephants were called in to chase out the lions. The elephants were destroying the castle, bumping into things and rubbing their backsides against the structural columns. What did the wise men do? The brought back the mice, of course.

Why is there a myth that elephants are afraid of mice? Turns out they are not so much afraid of such a small and insignificant thing as a mouse as they are startled by quick, unpredictable movement given their poor eyesight. Here is a clip from the Myth Busters that shows an elephant backing away from a tiny white mouse.

Turns out the children’s book was valid. The elephants left the castle and the king was back where he started, with mice loving his cheese. Naturally there is a happy ending/moral to the story. The king decided to share his cheese, the mice behaved and they all lived amiably ever after.

Had the king chosen to share his cheese from the beginning a lot of turmoil and destruction would have been prevented. Perhaps there are multiple levels to the moral; we should share with those who occupy our same space. If not, at least think of a simple, creative solution instead of first choosing to eradicate the enemy.

Acting always has repercussions. Acting without thinking things through can be disastrous.

How often do we jump to conclusions that anyone getting in our way or disagreeing with our philosophy or politics or religion is the enemy? We all say we want peace and to just get along yet hatred and racism pervade, all driven by our reaction to changes in our world.

It can be heavy, even heady, to consider every single consequence for each action or decision. Striving for that elusive peace begins with filling our hearts with that which we wish to spill out in times of stress, fear, anger or hurt. Isn’t there some law about a vacuum? If it is going to be filled, might as well fill it with goodness, understanding, acceptance and grace.

One of the most repeated themes of these Substack and Wordpress pages is cause and effect, action reaction. What you choose today creates your tomorrow. For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. If only I had that tattooed on my forearm, I might make good choices every moment of every day. In my humanity I fail, forgetting the laws that matter. Simple reminders, even if they come from the laws of physics, can lead to a better path for me and my world.

I’m careful which eggs are placed in that basket for its contents may spill out and break if jostled. What you place in your heart inevitably erupts into the world. Why not strive for beauty, joy and hope?

There are some rotten ones hiding within my own nest of eggs. Long ago I gave up feeling jealous or envious of others, recognizing the energy suck those emotions can be, but there are still a few hardened egg-shaped rocks hiding in my heart. There is a bigger one that is plain to see, right on the top that contains anger and hate. It takes very little for that ostrich-sized egg to pop out of the protective nest and break open, exposing my frustration and yes, fear, of all things racist, exclusionist and oppressive towards those who do not fit into some neat and tidy idea of someone’s “great” ideal.

I’ve got news for those who take on a posture of greatness, standing in a warrior pose on top of a mountain of influence, wealth and power -- they are guaranteed no more life on this earth than the rest of us. One day their short-lived and short-sighted lives will end. That mountain of greatness will dissipate into vapors of delusion, greed and bullying.

See how easily I allow my own hatred of the haters to come through? It is a big egg and if I am not careful, it will take over my life, releasing nothing but putrid fumes.

Misshapen and colorless worry eggs nestle deep in the basket. A new one appeared last weekend when a cosmetic filling came loose from my front tooth. Small and insignificant in the grand scheme and yet I allowed it to roll down a worry road, at risk of breaking as it banged against some vanity eggs. Should one of those bust open they would stink up the whole basket with sour smells. Somewhere beneath them is an egg of truth; outward appearance is nothing compared to what’s held within one’s heart.

So, I do my best to fill my own fragile basket with beautifully colored eggs of peace, joy, compassion, courage and hope. It means I must guard my heart, being careful what images, sound-bites and opinions of others are allowed within. Yes, there are buried nuggets of worry, fear and doubt. To be human, at least a caring one, means to include all emotions. I am tempted to list some here, but you know what they are. Which do you carry in your own basket? The challenge is to nurture the ones with which you wish to fill your world.

So, I watch for instances of creation. After all, eggs are symbolic of life, new life. My heart is filled with every observation of some new thing shared with the world whether it be a poem or a short story or a painting or a song. Sadly, this limits my options for entertainment since much of broadcast and streamed screentime is dominated by doom and gloom, apocalyptic, tragic and traumatic tales, often heavily laced with violence and death. Yet there is always a new song carried across the airwaves and another book of poems or installations of exhibitions at the local museums. Being reminded that humans are driven against all odds to bring art into the world sets a big egg of gratitude in the basket of my heart for all creatives who understand the importance and power of the creative act, in and of itself, with little regard for it becoming viral or commercially successful.

What one carries within spills over into their surrounding world. May your own basket be overflowing with recognition of and gratitude for all things good in your world.

Briefly, the Big Five are so named for the difficulty in hunting them back before animal conservation was considered: rhinoceros, lion, elephant, African (or Cape) buffalo and leopard. There is also a special five, known for their variations that set them apart: Reticulated Giraffe, Grevy’s Zebra, Somali Ostrich, Beisa Oryx and Gerenuk. We saw them all, some up close and a bit personal.

It struck me that we humans gain some kind of joy in seeing a thing. Sightings of the unusual, the famous, the bizarre or the spectacular are shared and bragged about. I can count on one hand the number of famous people I have talked to or seen on a city street. I would tell you all about the sightings if I thought it would serve my point, but it would just be me saying, look at me, I met a famous person and by extension I carry some of that notoriety.

It seems we steal a tiny molecule of their humanity by ogling, observing, naming and claiming our secondhand fame at their expense. How I would hate to never be able to walk around town for fear of fans crowding around.

I had to wonder how our footprints (really tire tracks) affected the animals in the wild. They were mostly non-plussed with our presence, even strolling between jeeps and land cruisers jamming the roadways to get the best view. It was a privilege to be there and experience nature in such a way, but at what cost? I learned that during the high season, there would be one hundred or more vehicles circling around a sighting. I am so glad it was the low season. Even 20-ish vehicles seemed too many. The drivers/guides do an excellent job of communicating with each other, sharing locations and best guesses for where to find the prize animals. Most days, our drives extended past the scheduled two or three hours as we drove from one area to another, our eyes and camera lenses trained on branches or fields. Oh, to see a leopard lazing on a low tree branch.

The photographers were naturally intent on capturing a prize-winning image. The rest of us were in on the “hunt” for the ever so shy leopard. I imagine we all secretly harbored a fantasy of being the person who spotted it first.

But as we traversed the countryside and focused on finding the leopard, I had to wonder what we were missing by our singular focus. The landscape alone was worthy of our attention and what of the birds? So many flitted past, beautiful in plumage and graceful in flight.

I barely caught the front half of a leopard with my phone

I was glad when we did see the first leopard. But why so much pressure? It wasn’t like we could not return home without seeing one. But checking off our imaginary Big Five bingo card freed some visual focus on a wider plain. There we saw Zebras running in a zigzag pattern as if they were doing their daily exercises. We never saw a predator chasing them and they seemed like they were having a good time. In a smaller group there was one zebra laughing and barking and jumping and leaping. It was so fun to watch this standout, that our guide called a teenager.

The Big Five, the Special Five. Do they hold any more value in God’s eyes? Or is it just a human need to evaluate and rank that makes one thing more important than another?

It may shock you to know that one of my favorite images from the trip was of a dung beetle crawling on the dirt road, pushing a shiny ball of dirt and poop out in front. I took a quick video but it would not translate well in this space. The beetle was at a 45-degree angle behind the ball that was at least twice its size. It rolled the ball, step by wavering step down the road. What were the chances of it getting squished by a jeep driving past on the way to a leopard sighting? I’d say, pretty good and yet this dung beetle pushed and pushed its Sisyphean dungball toward an unknown destination. The amount of toil and industry that critter had to accomplish for a meal was no less impressive than a cheetah taking down a gazelle before the poor thing knew what was coming. I didn’t watch that massacre, turning my head the other way. The circle of life and all that, but still, I don’t revel in savage gore.

The dung beetle I could watch, and I did, leaning my head out of the window for a shot with my phone camera. How our driver picked it out as he was driving is a wonder, but I’m glad he did.

Finally, I arrive at the point of this post: if we focus on one thing, and one thing only, what are we missing? I’m glad that my life thus far has been filled with images captured by a multi-focal lens. What would I have lost in the name of success, being at the top of some other chosen field? Even though I see writing as the through-point of my creative journey, what would it have meant for me to pursue it as a career, all other wonders set aside?

In Monday’s Wordpress post about Chasing Dreams, I said I sometimes feel like a slug leaving only an oily streak upon my world. Harsh words, not meant to engender argument or pity. But in God’s world, even the lowly slug is worthy and to be admired.

What one thing calls for your focus? Have you found that balance in life that rewards creativity with a feeling of accomplishment despite our world saying that only those at the top of their game are worthy of our attention and praise? I truly hope so. I hope you know that every thing you do that adds beauty and joy and love to your corner of the world is of the highest worth. Thank you, Creatives, for dedicating a portion of your life to that goal.

Photo taken by author at Ocean Sole, Kenya

I’ve been paying attention of late to the soft, unnoticed and loving ways of the world. If I’m on top of my game, I will call it out and name the goodness demonstrated by another in the way they navigate life, let them know I noticed and appreciate their generous heart.

During a recent conversation I told a friend that she has chosen the important path in life; caring for others in myriad ways, often choosing to put aside her own needs to do so. She says her life is boring. Not so. The most honorable thing we can do as brothers and sisters of this fallible human race is to sit and be with one another, especially in times of difficulty. For my friend, it is a life calling, one most of us would deny or run from. The easy way is to donate money (or cast-off clothing items) in times of need, so far removed from those who are suffering. Our brain says good job, you! as we deduct the amount from our ledger, while the heart beats on. Lub dub, lub dub.

Another friend has been traveling to the far corners of our world and shared how some locations leave her feeling empty while others fill her heart with joy and purpose. Perhaps she is expanding the capacity of her own heart as she comes face to face with unknown cultures and experiences.

There is much talk today of brain health. Supplements line the big box store shelves, all claiming to add years and even smarts to the space between your ears. Puzzles and brain games abound, designed to engage a percentage of our gray matter.

But what of the heart? If it is a repository, is there a limit to what it can hold?

Is it merely a muscle? The brawn behind the brain? The mechanical component with the sole job of pumping blood in and through our bodies? Maybe in a strictly physical sense, but at least in our culture we speak of the heart as the place where the soul resides, that deep down feeling part that seeks connection on a deep level. Would love songs even exist if not?

Have you ever sat with a friend or loved one? By your mere presence you are offering another heart to hold the sadness or loss. The physical heart in the center of our body may be only that, but the heart as repository is so much more.

We can expand the volume of our caring heart by paying attention, looking for and voicing appreciation for times of compassion and generosity. Even art and music can enlarge our heart. Being open to the wonders of the world can be treacherous though, especially for creatives who notice and feel on a color-filled frequency. Please Guard Your Heart as you navigate life in this complicated world. Have faith, the muscle inside your chest cannot be used up when filled with beauty and goodness. It can fill and fill again, beyond any capacity you can imagine. If you are paying attention.

But this morning I woke up with these thoughts in mind, and as often happens with all things creative, a detour points in a new, if temporary, direction.

Every one of us is a creator. You can argue the point, but unless you are a great king in a castle filled with attendants to do everything, even dress and bathe you, new things appear in your world at your hands. Even the great king must put words together to create a command, after all.

Perhaps you made a smoothie for breakfast, choosing which fruit and protein you would add today. Maybe you cook dinner for you and your loved ones. At the very least you have tended to and created your living space, no matter how grand or humble.

While in Kenya, I fell in love with the people of the Maasai tribe, from the first young man who served meals early on, dressed in his red shuka and adorned with beads and silver jewelry. He reminded me of a young Ru Paul. Tall and slender, graceful and beautiful. When not serving he played a flute to entertain the guests. I’ll post more about others I met and traditions of this pastoral tribe later but for now I want to describe their homes. Thin straight trees, probably acacia, form the frame, posted closely together. Insulation and protection are added in the form of cow dung plastered in and around the sticks. More dung, mud and dried grasses provide a roof.

We had the honor of entering such a home, ducking under the low, open doorway then waiting for a few minutes as our eyes adjusted to the near blackness of the interior. Two sections served as bedrooms, each containing a low bed made of straw and tanned cowhide. A hole in the wall, no bigger than four by six inches provided the only light and dare I say, breeze. A small fire burned on the dirt floor between the two rooms, one for the parents and the other for the children. A scrawny goat curled in the corner.

This was by far the most humble abode I have ever been invited to enter, so much more so than the homes carved in the mountainside of Spain by Gypsies who could create their home out of natural resources and opportunity. Both required hard work, to be sure. In the case of the Maasai homes, the women build them, working together to house the families of their community.

Creation at its most basic level; perhaps in response to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, with physiological (shelter) forming the base. One driving through the countryside of Kenya may miss the beauty of these people unless they, too, were invited in to the close-knit community. From their shoes fashioned from tire treads and leather to the ceremonial and ornamental beaded silver jewelry, the Maasai create a community that addresses all of Maslow’s needs, even to the top of the pyramid, self-actualization.

Other than a few trinkets for sale to support their tribe, the Maasai create for creation’s sake. (I admit we did our fair share of participating, duffle bags bursting with earrings and bracelets and wood carvings.) They don’t strive to be an influencer, or to reach the pinnacle of success as we so describe and worship in our culture. To be the most, the best, the richest, the household name that fills stadiums around the world. The act of creating, for them, is a simple fact of their culture and the world in which they live.

Where are you most creative? In the garden? Decorating your home? Cooking? Writing, painting, sketching, acting, singing or doing stand-up comedy? Why do you do it? If it is for recognition and fame, you will bound to be disappointed. The numbers will never satisfy. The praise will feel empty and maybe forced. Your friends may be nothing more than fame seekers, chasing after a bit of spit-flung notoriety. Creating for the sake of influence, fame or notoriety will fall flat.

I love to cook. When I feel like it. It is one of my creative avenues, turning a random sampling of fridge and pantry items into a feast. But when the kids were growing and I had to feed them and hubby seven days a week, how I hated the drudgery and everydayness of the chore. Even the occasional, this is good, Mom, didn’t satisfy my need to create beauty. Today I can cook for cooking’s sake and be happy with my own Good Job at a task well done. Cooking is the supreme practice of create and release as the food fills our bellies on a trek to becoming nothing more than human waste.

Create and release.

What if everyone figured out how to find satisfaction in the act of creation itself, forgetting who might publish it or host it or curate it or listen or watch or laugh at our concert or show or standup routine?

That is my vision of Heaven. People free to create beauty in whatever style and medium they please. It would be a world filled with color and sound and rhythm and laughter, no evaluation or judgement needed. Imagine how this very physical planet upon which we trod would be transformed if we all created for creation’s sake. What a beautiful miracle that would be.

1. Pack your clothes and gather your money

2. Remove half the clothes and double the money.

Ridiculous, I thought. (This was in the time of Traveler’s Cheques, no credit cards.)

Today, I know the value of that practice, so first I pull favorites from my closet. Too much! Then the overpacked suitcase sits on the floor for a few days before editing, culling. It is a quest to see just how unencumbered my load can become. Shoes (always bring an extra pair), toiletries and comforts like Snacks On The Plane! are necessities, but clothes can be whittled to a capsule wardrobe of mixed layers.

A few years ago, I traveled alongside three sisters who each had only a carry-on bag. Did I judge them for wearing the same neutral clothes and all-weather coat for two weeks? The opposite. I was envious of their ability to go and do without worry of what to wear. They did step up their game for evening celebrations. A sparkly top over black travel pants and voilà, party time.

I judged myself quite harshly as I lugged around a huge suitcase and a smaller bag, especially as they were stuffed into the belly of the bus. To this day, I think about those sisters and their carefree, minimalist ways. They illustrated that traveling is not a fashion show.

Every subsequent trip after meeting my less-is-more role models has been a challenge to cull unnecessary items. I fill my trusty spinner-carry-on then set it aside to let the ingredients settle, like flavors simmering in a gumbo of delights. It never fails that I will remove or replace frivolous or bulky items before leaving home. For me, the joy of lightweight traveling surpasses the need for impressing others who, let’s face it, are paying no mind at all to little ol’ me.

How do you travel? Do you cuss every time you have to check a big bag, worrying that it may not be there at your destination? Do you have to ask for help to heft your overloaded and bursting overhead bag, especially since you are wearing as many layers as you can on the plane?

Have you figured out that style is constant, but fashion is fleeting? Timeless mix-and-match basics will carry you through most travel situations when layered as needed.

I’ve learned to reduce my luggage and even strive to travel for a month from a backpack. Could I do it? Maybe.

Less luggage equals less baggage. There’s a loaded word. Shall I “unpack” that? I would rather walk around a foreign city without worry of fashion trends than be bogged down by luggage or baggage of the internal kind.

That’s the bigger challenge - to lessen the baggage that I tote around in my head. Reading greats like The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz, helps me work on that. It stays on my shelf, at hand for whenever ego baggage starts to weigh me down. His second agreement is Don’t Take Anything Personally. “Nothing others do is because of you…when you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be a victim of needless suffering.”

Since adopting this idea as my own reality, I feel less encumbered by fret and worry. Have I become heartless, non-caring, sloppy or lazy? The opposite. As the ego baggage gets emptied there is an expansion of space, room for leisurely breaths and lovely strolls.

What is your sweet spot for luggage toting? How about baggage?

No matter where you may find yourself, around the world or in your head, unencumbered is a worthy goal.

Recently, I began a chat with the woman sitting on the opposite end of the bench. We exchanged pleasantries, and soon she was sharing why she had not been to that venue for a long time. Seems she had been shut up in her home for various reasons. I let her talk, in tune with her need to chronicle the many health and house issues that were demanding her time, to the point of affecting her mental outlook. She didn’t whine or cry or even complain. She just needed someone to listen.

At a pause, I told her I have learned that things do get better.

Later, I thought about why I chose the word do, knowing nothing about her situation or the possibility of improvement. They do get better. Not they may get better, or they can get better.

My word choice was based on personal experience of living through various disappointments, challenges and seasons of discomfort or despair. Things do get better. Things may change. You may have to adjust to a new reality, but they do get better.

Would it have been more honest for me to say, things may get better? I hear defeatism in that. There’s a chance, but probably not. Maybe so often means no but I don’t want to be rude and come right out and say it.

Things can get better is slightly more optimistic. It is the difference between maybe one day we will land on the moon and we can land on the moon by the end of the decade, as JKF challenged in 1962 when he said “We choose to go to the moon.” We might, we can, we did.

Things do get better.

If you have lived up to this point with no moment of doubt or worry or even fear, you are not living. Doubt points us to a better way of living. Worry shows we care not only for ourselves but for others and our world. Fear is necessary for survival, as long as we are not giving in to fear-based hotpoints blasted across the cyber-verse by social media, one-sided news sources and powers that currently be. Watch out for words that are meant to sway your opinion by making you scared, prejudiced or unnecessarily worried about what might happen. Might equals may equals probably not.

Wherever you find yourself today on the spectrum of doom>gloom>rosy>sunny, consider how your attitude chooses your words. Life leads us across that spectrum in both directions, sunny>rosy>gloom>doom. Our attitude changes with our words as well as the other way around.

Watch the words you utter. Consider what it means to say I may. I might, but probably not. I can suggests a self-belief and budding confidence even if you are faking it. Best is I do. Now. Right now. I do it.

Pay attention to the words you use to encourage others. They carry weight, more than you know. On Monday, we’ll explore more in my Wordpress post here.

You can find One Plus in the previous entry.

As it happens, creatives experience great swings of ebb and flow. I am currently on a flow phase, so many ideas for blogs and posts are filling up my journal and notes app that I am writing by the flame of the match of insight while the inspiration burns brightly.

Thanks, as always, for reading, sharing, commenting and generally encouraging my efforts.

As I write this, I’m humming One is the Loneliest Number. Three Dog Night made it a super hit, but the version recorded by creator Harry Nillson is worth a listen. As much as I love Nillson’s music, I disagree with his sentiment.

There can be beauty and peace found in solitude. Maybe I can say this because I am not always alone, and my extrovert tendencies regard strangers on the street as temporary friends.

I’m shifting my focus in my quest to end the friend drought that began with a cross-state move; a repeat of what I experienced nearly a decade ago when one by one my art and music buddies moved away. It took a while, but one by one (there is that number again) I met people through work and volunteering. Those strangers quickly became more than temporary friends. By the time I moved away I could count a handful of different groups of the music, art, happy hour and neighborhood social variety. It is one of the reasons I held out so long before agreeing to leave my beloved town.

It hasn’t taken long for my current home to become beloved. The house, sure. The proximity to one daughter’s family, of course. The surprise has been the bounty of cultural, musical and art activities that could potentially fill each week to bursting. Despite leaving a neighborhood of friends that I adored and missing a church home that surpassed any I’d been involved in previously, I feel more connected to and in synch with this new hometown than ever before.

One of the many local museums hosts a Second Thursday Happy Hour. Cocktails and snacks are available for purchase, but the event is free. As I roamed this new-to-me space, the harmonic tones of a girl and her guitar wafted through the halls. My heart filled with art-love and people-love and maybe self-love as I realized I don’t need a buddy. I still would love to meet that friend that will go and do at the drop of a text, but I can enjoy on my own, too.

Red Cannas, 1927; Georgia O’Keefe, Amon Carter Museum

I can be my One Plus.

Going solo adds a level of freedom. There is no wondering if the other person is bored and wants to move on. No need to discuss the art, except within your own curious mind. I celebrate the joy of going solo as I embrace the number one.

Recent discussions have trended toward the benefits of traveling solo. I admire women who think nothing of planning an excursion on their own. Challenges may arise but they meet them and move on to the next big adventure. I met the mayor (of the Garment District in Manhattan) when I traveled there solo. Lacking a companion, I enjoyed a conversation with a stranger. Even more recently I was tempted to sit with a lovely man teaching chess in the park, especially when he told me he grants wishes, but I had to hurry along to catch up with my co-travelers. There is discovery, adventure and fun to be found in going solo. One Plus.

Going solo to museum events provides opportunities to meet lovers of all cultural outings. Discussions about the local music scene have led to some number sharing with a hope that we will text about future concerts. It may never happen and that’s okay because while I am not as likely to attend a music event solo, my One Plus status may just lead me there.

Sometimes my One Plus becomes a bonus one plus one when my hubby joins me. Another museum hosts a happy hour before screening a new film on the first Fridays. Movie tickets are reasonable as are the prices for drinks or snacks. On the night of our introduction to this new-to-me museum, we watched A Private Life with Jodie Foster. I highly recommend it. This new film is in French with subtitles, but you hardly notice the need to read as you follow the story line and tangled web of relationships between the characters. I can’t wait for the next opportunity to attend, as one or two. Either way, it will be a plus.

Years turn over on the calendar. Situations, even domiciles, change. Attitudes should shift along with adjustments. Magic happens when we are open to new realities, welcoming new adventures. Past experience has shown me how being open to new things welcomes success. Just watch, as I release the “need” for a culture-buddy, I’ll begin to meet them while enjoying the pleasure of my own company. I can’t wait. In the meantime, I will celebrate One Plus.

Laser focus on one topic means casting others to the side. Dabbling is my M.O., but it leaves me feeling less than knowledgeable on anything at all. A Jill of all Trades can’t attend fully to only one interest. I’ll take variety; of learning, of skills, of interests and of ways to fill my free time. I admire those who dedicate their lives to one specific goal, to be sure. I also appreciate those who trend toward doing many things well. It goes back to that wonderful B word – Balance. I’m glad for my varied life of many pursuits. Being a life-long learner is worthy goal, no matter how scattered and diverse the topics or means of education.

So, what to do after learning all you can on a topic? Go and Do, that’s what. If you have ever been challenged to teach a class or lead a seminar, you know that you learned as you studied, but even more so as you stood in front of colleagues and claimed your authority. There were a few decades when I was involved in Toastmasters, an organization I highly recommend as a life-changing tool to improve public speaking and boost confidence. No matter what you do in life, you are probably met with countless opportunities to leave that first impression in social or work situations. Belonging to a local TM club (there is one near you, I bet) can benefit anyone who has to shake hands, introduce themselves, even explain their latest project to their boss on the fly. During my active years in the organization, I trained my weaknesses during weekly meetings, then engaged in industrial strength learning by participating in district and regional competitions. Doing can be scary. Brutal and embarrassing mistakes are made, but the giant leaps gained makes pushing past the fear well worth it.

A few years later, I became a founding member of the Joy of Djembe Drumming Ensemble. We began as a drum circle, meeting monthly to send positive and peaceful vibes into the heavens with our harmonic playing. I’d show up and play along without worrying about honing the skills needed to play slaps and tones with distinction. Then the ensemble was formed with the intent to play around town. That first public appearance taught me more than the year plus of rehearsals. Today the ensemble plays all over the greater Houston area, even has to turn down offers of gigs. It is one of the things I miss about my previous hometown. I give thanks for the gift of belonging and creating music, all because I stepped out to Go and Do.

Time and effort spent on life-long learning multiplies rewards many fold, particularly in writing. I’d been playing around with letters on a page my whole life, but until bravely taking a giant leap all the way to the Kaui Writers Conference I was just doodling. Doing that one thing, scary as it may have been, has led to my current life in which I belong to deep-seated groups of writing friends, encouragers and teachers.

Life-long learning is the cornerstone of a vital life, lest stagnation sets in. Pond scum doesn’t stand a chance in the current of a thriving river roiling with new information and experiences.

Ten thousand hours, anyone? Malcolm Gladwell’s famous estimate (The Outliers) is overwhelming, but we can approach joy while honing a skill we have chosen to pursue. This is a classic example of the journey beginning with a single step. Athletes gain skill in solo practice and team drills. Playing on the court or field is where the pixie dust activates. (If only that were a real thing, I’d be sparkly all over from overapplying enough magic to compete in anything sports related – I didn’t even qualify for my high school drill team which seemed easy enough.)

My heart just wasn’t in it.

Choose where you focus your learning and doing. Know where to apply your time and talents. I knew sports was out of the mix very early on. I’ve recently come to terms with my lack of gardening ability. As much as I love house plants, fresh flowers and vegetables, I’ve finally admitted there is a green gene missing in my DNA. I admire those Earth Mothers and Fathers who easily make things grow and I’m thankful for any bounty they share with me. Shout out to Steve who is preparing a vegetable garden in our new back yard and keeps the green and flowering things alive and trimmed.

Lack of super-natural talent in a field should not impede your quest toward a your-size-fits-you goal. I’m okay with pursuing many interests even knowing I’ll never reach expert or fluent proficiency. My love of music pushes me past struggling to play instruments and practice anyway. Is time for music meant for my ears only a guilty pleasure? No.

Never feel bad about adding music to your space. There is value in creating beauty of any kind, even in a world of one.

Whatever you strive to learn, I hope you push off from the armchair of you cozy learning spot to Go and Do. Your corner of the world will be happier for it and that’s where it all begins.

The desire to be a neighbor within a new community is strong. The surface meaning of neighbor is related to proximity of habitation, but the deeper meaning of the word neighbor is one who needs help or kindness.

At every turn and in each new situation I’ve heard and felt “Welcome Stranger.” Perhaps that is why these past weeks have been filled with urgings to extend the same hospitality to those who fill the broader definition of neighbor. Just as giving is met with receiving manyfold, receiving is a nudge to give back. Books have informed me of groups in need. Conversations have highlighted local non-profits serving my “neighbors,” from urban missions and food pantries to women’s prisons and shelters. I’m learning about needs as well as resources, like 211 - a national line that helps with non-emergency crises including housing issues, disaster recovery and caregiver resources. 211.org provides general information as well as local links. I’m meeting people who work to serve women and children in need, our hungry and housing insecure neighbors and even at-risk teens by creating a charter STEAM sixth-grade campus.

There is a pull to reach out and help, especially in recognition of my own ease in assimilating in a new city compared to some who struggle with lack of funds, resources, language skills and even immigration status. There is an opposite pull resisting involvement. No time is no excuse. Neither is fear or doubt. Yet, I must be true to who I am and recognize which opportunities would be forcing a round peg into a square hole. For example, some new acquaintances have invited me to join groups that stand on bridges with signs or join protest marches to government seats. I am with them in spirit but while I may voice dissent against the current tyrannical trend to hobble free speech, gut the arts and turn away from ideals of inclusion and equality, I have to recognize that my ragged-shaped soul would be ill fit in that activist hole. More than feeling guilty, it is a self-aware acceptance of where, and to what purpose I am being led.

What are some “softer” means of advocacy and activism? As I write this, I am volunteering as a host for a Creativity Group at Keith House. That’s not for nothing, but I can do more, like walk across the street (literally) to help distribute grocery sacks, diapers and even pet food through the windows of the one hundred plus cars that begin lining up hours before a local food pantry opens. It is tempting to wonder if it wouldn’t be just as helpful to write a check or donate food items.

An invisible hand does not a neighbor make.

To truly be a neighbor, one must engage in a two-way relationship. It means to go beyond sticking your hand out of your own car window with a dollar on that street corner that hosts myriad “neighbors” asking for help. Keeping a spare dollar in my car visor or jeans pocket (to freely access for urban music buskers) is a defining point of my identity. Looking another soul in the eyes and asking their name or thanking them for the gift of music goes beyond that baby step of giving and begins a two-way, neighborly connection, no matter how temporary.

Even soft activism can be scary in that vulnerability. So much safer to give online or anonymously. Also emptier, one way. Face-to-face encounters can bless the giver many fold. It is one of the secrets of life. Let go. Release. Freely and fearlessly. Pay attention to what returns. Again and again.

The Beer Can House, Houston, Texas

It is human nature to want to belong. I have faith that one day I will look back at this year of transition and be amazed at how deep connections unfolded. One day I will feel an integral part of my neighborhood. Reaching out to neighbors in the broader meaning will promote that goal in ways I can’t even imagine. I may not voice the question, but with every effort of service to others, the underlying message will be Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

I like the idea of taking a deep dive into a topic for one year. Greek Mythology. The Roman Empire. Quantum physics. The goal would not be to become an expert in that field. I mean, quantum physics? Come on. The benefit would be to understand one’s world through a new lens. The truth is, I can’t think of a topic that interests me enough to focus solely on that. But imagine how smart I’d sound if I ever had the opportunity to engage in a discussion at a cocktail party about string theory. Whenever I dream about a single topic year of learning, I turn to music. Theory eludes me. I’ve tried. I have books that claim to make it simple. I’ve known musicians who understand it like I understand walking or breathing. Am I just being lazy or is there some logic missing from my brain that muddles the idea of the circle of fifths and chord progression? I blame numbers. Words I understand, at least some of them, but numbers? Yet, music fills my days and haunts my dreams. I want to play piano and guitar and even ukulele, but do I have to understand the fundamentals? Yes, darn it all anyway. Without craft in the background, the art gets fuzzy. So, it’s back to school after all, even if it is only for music lessons.

What topic would you pick if you could spend this year in a deep dive? What skill would you practice under the direction of a teacher? Would it change how you see or act in your world?

So what do driving dreams mean, anyway? Surely they represent our need to get somewhere or whether we feel in control of the direction in which our life is headed. Often, I dream-drive through low water. A bit treacherous, but I am confident I will get to the other side, especially when I remember that water represents emotion. Even when I am driving in complete darkness, I continue knowing I will arrive somehow safely at my desired dream destination. When I wake from the no-brakes-backing-up dream, I take a minute to think about the direction I am heading in real life. Am I going backwards? And if so, why can’t I brake in order to change direction?

What drives your dreams? Are you moving forward? Are others following as you lead the way? Is it fun, frustrating or scary? Do you wake up excited to carry on in real life where your dream left off? Are you happy for a split second and then disappointed to realize it was just a dream?

If we are paying attention, our dreams can carry messages, as if the voice of another interrupts and shows us the way. I love those dreams, too, more for the validation of beliefs buried within than for their surprising pronouncements. It can be a word or an image that nudges us to a new direction we knew we were moving toward all along. But my sports car dream is not leading me to a dealership, wads of cash in hand. It is really about who I am, who I think I am and who I think I am becoming as I navigate change (cities, houses, friends, activities and opportunities). Dreams are about ego and identity more than we care to believe. There is no more wonderful feeling than speeding down a country lane with the wind whipping through your hair, but it is also a cool thing with which to align your identification. We attach a lot of pride, status, and street cred to the type of car we drive. My current car does an excellent job of getting me from point A to point B, even if it is missing the windswept feature. Still, nothing whips the cobwebs out of one’s brain like sun and wind tousling your tresses which explains the visceral joy I felt during my top-down driving dreams. Perhaps a birthday sports car rental is in order. How can you invite your dreams into your real life? Where will they lead?

Photo taken at Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth

I recommend traveling beyond your local environs at any opportunity. Being open to new experiences, different tastes, sounds, smells and sights has a way of reinforming your world when you return. I like to travel with eyes wide open, taking in and appreciating all the differences, even tasting odd things. My very first international travel (outside of Mexico and Canada) was to Germany more than thirty years ago. There, I fell in love with asparagus, the big fat white variety which was so different from the slimy canned stalks I’d never developed a taste for. I came home wanting to hang white lace curtains above window boxes of begonias or maybe geraniums. I wished I could go to a market each day to buy fresh bread and meat, cheese and vegetables. It made me understand the level of opulence and consumerism at my fingertips. A trip to my local grocery story was like a Disneyland of variety. Shelves of green beans and soups, rows of glistening fruit, aisles of toilet paper. But was it better? I think not. I missed the locally grown produce and the few choices of necessities like toothpaste. Are we spoiled, or what?

Travel has a way of making details of everyday life stand out, to be examined in fresh ways. Differences are not necessarily better or worse, but it is an important life skill to understand ways in which others live around the world. Being displaced, even temporarily, can shake up your perception of life. Revelations may happen, if you are open to them. On my recent trip, I did no writing, but jotted notes for themes and ideas to be developed in upcoming blog posts. Being in a mindset of taking in, absorbing pings of observation, was like watering a fallow field, knowing the giving waters would soon produce shoots of new, fresh, green buds. I was careful not to dismiss what appeared to be weeds among the harvest, recognizing them as something new and valuable. Different. Examining the shoot instead of yanking it from the soil revealed an alternate idea, a goal that varies from my previous path. Fresh eyes, or maybe old eyes peering from a different angle, had me reevaluating where I want to go with this writing thing. This new direction is risky. It may invite complete failure, but only if I buy into an old and stale definition of success. As I return to my “normal” routine, and my writing closet, I am thinking, feeling and experiencing all the explosions and vibrations that accompany a seismic shift of internal thought. It’s a new year, blank calendar pages await, to be filled at my whim. I can continue as was, taking paths of least resistance, or I can forge a new direction by carving out a different route. Infinite choices can be debilitating unless one has an outstanding and well-defined desire. Turns out, standing out in a strange and crowded place just might offer surprising guidance for where to go and what to do next.

When was the last time you stood out among the crowds? What new thoughts accompanied you on your return home? I’ll bet they were outstanding, but only if you were paying attention.

Rae’s book is a variation on the theme of Watch Your Language. It is loaded with stories of her personal struggles as well as those of others who are fighting against worry and doubt. She claims of the thousands she has counseled on ways to live one’s full life, all of them harbor a nagging belief that they are not enough, even those who had no trauma or drama growing up. Maybe that is a survival thing? After all, if we felt we were enough from the get-go would we have ever taken the risk of standing on two feet instead of crawling our way around our tiny world?

Since it is a library book, I jotted notes in a journal to be put aside and maybe forgotten until I want a reminder of how powerful our thoughts are. I have confidence that golden nuggets have taken up residence in my brain, maybe replacing old and tired ideas that do me no good. Years, even decades, of soaking up positive thinking habits through reading have served me well no matter how much I may forget. Sidenote – isn’t that so much better than filling one’s brain with perfect photos of “friends” showing off their sunny pretend lives? Yet another reason to put the phone down (unless a call comes in) and adopt a lower-tech life. Sure, there are post-worthy catch phrases and feel-good posters to remind us to be our best selves, but reading and digging deep into paper pages that might smudge your fingers infuse fresh ideas into your brain. At least that is how it works for me.

One of Rae’s suggestions is to make every choice, each action, an act of love for others or yourself. Sounds simple enough, right? But like the good habit of watching your language, one needs to be on the lookout, ever alert, for times when the easy way is not the loving way. Some are not so hard, like laughing at pet peeves instead of allowing them to drive you to the edge of your last nerve. Putting aside the need to be right can be an act of love. So can taking a breath before beginning a tough conversation that could potentially send you and your loved one running in opposite directions.

What of self-love? What self-beneficial act can be one of love, today? I am terrible about consistency of habits, despite good intentions. A friend has reminded me that daily flossing can add years to your life, so I silently thank them every day when I pull that waxy string from the plastic box. It is self-loving to lift weights every day, not just on the ones that I remember or want to. I admit, I think part of me believes I am not worthy of self-love so why commit to daily loving acts? Whoa, talk about watch your language! It is easier to do things that benefit others, like serving meals made of fresh food, walking with a companion or just sitting quietly with a friend in need.

How will you love, today? In what ways can you choose the better road when dealing with a sticky part of an important relationship? How can you love strangers in your world? Here’s a very mundane but relatable example: what comes out of your mouth as you drive? I figured out a long time ago that peace would not come to me and my household as long as I was cussing other drivers, slinging words and fingers their way. Being cautious and safe is important, of course, but the bad behaviors of others should not cloud my mood. When I no longer allow the turkey birds on the road to affect my state of mind, I am acting out of self-love as well as love for others. What we spit into our world, even on the roads, creates the color in which we live. Why not make something as mundane as driving an act of love?

How will you love today? What small act can you do to make today one of peace and joy? The act may be small, but the effect is huge.

You know what I mean. How many times today did you think or say any of the following~ That was so stupid. How could I be such an idiot? I am so …ill-prepared, immature, innocent, behind the curve, left out, not beautiful, not influential, not productive, not worthy. Would you say that to another person? Probably not, for we strive to treat all people with dignity and respect.

But back to you. The language in your head, conscious or not, absolutely forms your person in ways we don’t even understand. The reality that you are living today is a reflection, no, a result, of words you use. I’m doing some deep diving into my own vocabulary to unearth falsehoods that have steered me or stopped me. I think I know some of it and I try to recognize variations on a theme when they pop into my head. It is hard work; to be on constant alert for self-flung and self-directed second darts, in other words all the times we remember and suffer from the first hurt which is something that happened in the past. What we do with the memory of that pointy projectile is completely under our control but only if we are paying attention to our self-talk. It would be a good trick to stop the second darts from hitting, but near impossible by human means.

Most times we have no clue or memory of the “first dart” that pricked our consciousness and told us to beware. I learned about the magic of catching second darts in the life-changing-for-me book “The Four Agreements,” by Don Miguel Ruiz. It shows how one can expand their view of their world by challenging deeply held beliefs. I’ve been trying to catch such roadblocks to potential as they happen, on high alert for self-talk that includes limiting beliefs like, it will never happen for you, you have never been successful, no one is interested in what you have to say, or, just hang it all up and move on to something else, surely there is another life goal or even hobby that would be more rewarding than writing.

If your self-talk is filled with negative thoughts about value or worth, I hope you can catch them red-handed in the act of self-sabotage. Stop, turn in a new direction, one that builds up rather than breaks down. Those thoughts are agreements you bought into when a dart hit your soul and whispered you are a failure or you are not enough. Here’s a secret: Those darts are all about the one who flung them, they have nothing to do with you. According to Ruiz, we are all living our own personal dream, what we call our reality. The actions of others are only reflections on what they have chosen to believe to create their own dream.

The near-impossible (but life-affirming) trick is to believe that and to release another’s power over our own dream. Noticing the fallacy of long-held beliefs is a first step. If only we had a new inner voice, a fresh voice to refute all the darts we sling our own way, resetting the dream we have chosen to believe in. Look back, look closely. You may see how you are the product of whatever you’ve been telling yourself all these decades. Past hurts and goofs were things that happened but you decide how they inform your current life. Don’t allow them to become perpetual darts that are so pervasive, ubiquitous, you don’t even know you are piercing your own not-so-thick skin.

Take some time to get quiet and listen to the conversation that is never-ending. Challenge the validity of what your protective ego is whispering. You know, the part of you that will do anything to keep your from feeling too deeply or making a mistake or living life fully because whoa, that would be too scary and dangerous. And most of all, watch your language, especially the phrases that repeat like an old record with a skip; the same sad song over and over. Change your words and honor the you who is meant to be fully you. The world will be better for it.

Whatever your celebration, I hope you take time to rest in the light of love that flows through you and around you in this time of shortened days and lengthened TO DO lists. May the colors and sparkles that bling up your world remind you that light wins out over darkness. There is love and peace within sight and within reach. My Holiday Wish for you is a restful time with your loved ones, detached from the worries of the world, free of the shackles of consumerist calls for more, more and filled with whispers of love and acceptance. May you delight in the light of the season, however you celebrate.

To honor my own practice to do less rather than more during this season, I will be taking a reading sabbatical until January, a time of gathering for future harvests. Until then have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Of course that is wrong. I know that, yet as much as I try to eschew symbols and prejudicial judgement based on appearance, I am human and fall prey to those Limiting Beliefs. How can I learn or train myself to see the rainbow of wonder that each person represents? Admittedly it is difficult (impossible for me) to view certain world leaders as anything but evil based on the hate-filled and fear-based agendas they promote, often through bully tactics of the worst kind. Even they must have colorful dots struggling to break free of the lightless, lack-of-all-color spectrum. Finding none, I put my head in the sand and seek beauty and color in my own small corner of the world, even within this very red state, a label applied based on voting records and bills and laws enacted by the controlling powers.

Yet I live in a world that daily assaults me with infinite color, symbolically as well as in 3-D living. We have a wondrous tree in our new back yard that is currently aflame with red. No, scratch that, the leaves have turned every shade of red that resides on the long end of the rainbow. From a short distance you might say it is red, but up close there are spots and dips of yellows and oranges, even greens on the leaves yet to turn.

This tree is a symbol of possibility and wonder. I am thankful for this new addition to our lives: a back yard and a flaming tree. Our last house had a tiny footprint that didn’t allow for a yard. The few trees outside our windows did not change with the seasons. Still, they were many shades of green.

It is human nature to name and label and categorize. It helps us make sense of our world. But sometimes, that practice can be limiting. It can mash square pegs into round holes just to keep things neat and tidy. The world is not neat and tidy, no matter how much we try to control it and make it so.

Imagine a box of crayons with an infinite number of waxy sticks with which to color the world. I recall the joys of a brand new box at the beginning of a school year, yet how quickly did the points dull, the wrappers peel and the crayons break in two? What colors your world? Do you moan about the lack of color, the few possibilities, the limitations? Can you expand your world by seeking new hues to color your world lens? Try this simple experiment, which I believe is credited to Leonardo Da Vinci: rub you palms together to warm them. Then cup them gently over your closed eyes for 20 or 30 seconds. When you remove your hands and open your eyes you may just be amazed at the vibrant, brilliant colors in your world.

Just like in Kindergarten, we choose the colors with which we create our art. Our lives can be expanded by the simple act of reaching for those not often used, beyond the red, blue and yellow. May you seek so many colors in your own world you can only wonder at its beauty.