Early Bird

What are you---an early bird, a night owl, or something in between? By definition, an early bird is a person who rises or acts before the usual or expected time. A night owl is a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night.

I don’t know when I made the leap from night owl to early bird. Perhaps it was when my now 29-year-old equestrian daughter was a child rider showing her ponies, and we had to be at a competition states away at the crack of dawn. Perhaps it was 14 years ago when I gave up my obsession with alcohol and no longer had to nurse a hangover. Regardless of when or why, my life is exponentially better because I am an early bird. Every Sunday morning since the beginning of the pandemic, I rise and drive to the next town where I pick up a week's worth of groceries curbside at 7:00 am. This is my chosen time slot. I have other opportunities during the week to make that run, but I cherish the drive to Westerly on Sunday mornings when I’m the only one on the road. I get to witness the sun coming up and I can take in the splendor of the natural world around me. 

Throughout the pandemic, I have gone to the YMCA for 5:45 am cycle classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, a practice I continue to this day. At 67-years-old, I must take my physical seriously if I wish to continue an active lifestyle. 

Groceries and spin classes aside, how does early-birding affect creativity? What better time than the hours before dawn to tackle those projects? Often, I hear from women who have school-age children, most with jobs outside the home, who claim they just can’t make time for their creative lives. I won't co-sign their excuses. I wrote and published two books of informational nonfiction before my children hit kindergarten. Rising just 30 minutes earlier can net huge results, so why are you sleeping in?

Imagine the look your muse gives you each morning as you fly by her, shutting the door behind you. Show up. Sit down. She's waiting to reveal her magic, and there is magic in the hours just before dawn. 

Do you remember that childhood jingle: Get up, get up, you sleepy head! Give a listen: http://binged.it/3fYJded

Suck It Up

 "Suck it up and travel. You won't born here to work and  pay taxes. You were put here to be part of a vast organism to explore and create. Stop putting it off."  ~Jason Mraz

From May through mid November, I operate an Airbnb hosting business at my 800-square-foot cottage in Charlestown Rhode Island. During that time, I happily move myself and sweet Carla out to my one-room garage apartment/studio where I host a few dozen couples and solo travelers who make my home their home-away-from-home for three nights or more. The money that I make during those four months makes up the bulk of my annual income. Those monies, along with a monthly social security check and a draw from some long-held investments sustain me. I tuck away the Airbnb money in order to travel the remaining months of the year. 

At 67 years old, I live, literally, and work, to pay for, to support the jaunts that I gleefully get to take the rest of the year. From one-day workshops to abandoned mill, hospitals and homesteads, to longer stays such as Hazel Meredith‘s Barns and Back Roads 3-day workshop in Tennessee, these outings are the lifeblood of my creative life. I schedule at least one adventure a month, sometimes two, and these outings give me something to look forward to. 

My point in telling you all this is to hopefully encourage you, to spur you, to convince you to get out there, to behold the wonders of this world. I have taken two solo cross-country trips in my life, and both adventures changed me. I came back braver, stronger, more creative and at home in my own skin. and more in love with life itself.  If you’re waiting for more money, more time, a partner, retirement, I beg you to not wait. Set your course, your compass, and get out there. It doesn’t take much. Cut back if you have to. Give up cable. Shop smarter for your groceries. Eliminate unnecessary spending. If you want it as badly as I do, you won't miss these small concessions. 

Recently, my dear friend and fellow muse, Janice Pospisil, turned me on to this awesome virtual way to travel around the globe. While it’s a far cry from the real deal, it’s a start, and maybe, just maybe it’ll get your blood and juices flowing and thinking about sucking it up and traveling. Check it out!

https://www.heygo.com/home

What We See

 

"What we see depends mainly on what we look for." ~ John Lubbock

I use this Lubbock quote often, and I wholeheartedly believe it is at the root of all manifestation. What are you giving your attention to? Do you expect miracles, or do you assume they happen to everyone else, never you?

I seek love, not the romantic kind, rather the kind that is found in grocery store lines, on the highways, daily on Facebook and in social media. I do not watch the news, I do not seek out the gore and desperate tidings online or in the newspapers. I will scroll right past your post if you're whining again about your cheating husband. I am not blind either; I know such miseries exist. I simply choose to focus on the things, the experiences, the happenings, that I wish to see more of. Generosity. Abundance. Kindness. 

I once dated (literally, once) a man who kept a machete under the seat on the passenger's side of his truck. I'd been groping around for my misplaced cellphone when I came upon it.

"Why do you have a machete in your truck?" I asked.
"Just in case," he answered.
"In case of what?" I pressed.
"In case someone tries to mess with me," he countered.

I had just returned from my first solo cross country road trip---9000 miles in 30 days---and not once did anyone mess with me, not at the pumps, not checking into my rooms for the night, not on the long, sometimes barren and desolate highways. I went out into the world expecting safety, seeking connection, deliriously in love with life, and not once did calamity visit me. Perhaps there are two types of people in the world: people who look for, and generally find, trouble, and people who have faith and hail mankind as benevolent.

Maybe one day, someone, something, will prove my theory wrong, but in the meantime, I'll go on believing in love because when I lead with that, all things are possible. Try it. If I'm wrong, I'll refund your misery.

A Sense of Place

Did you know that in addition to our five senses, we have a sixth? It is the sense of place, an internal compass and map made by memory and spatial perception together. If you don't know where you are, you don't know who you are.

I have a friend with a broken heart. My friend is not struggling through a breakup or a divorce or a death in his family, rather he is heartbroken over the loss of his home. For decades, this man poured his heart, soul, and talents into reconstructing one of the most magical cottages in coastal New England. I know because I had the privilege of spending a few weeks there every summer when I lived in Providence.  The architectural details in this cottage are unique and museum quality. From hand-carved wall sconces to smooth gliding pocket doors to intricate moldings, this artisan supplied his vision and breathtaking talent. While working on the cottage, my friend and his family occupied the sprawling, turn-of-the-century home on the same property. What I didn't know at the time was that this place he called home was actually owned by his wife's family, and when they decided to sell, he was uprooted. Hence his broken heart.  

My friend's circumstance got me thinking about relationships, especially the relationships we all have to (and with) place, and how the loss of a home can bring about a heart-wrenching sense of displacement and dislocation. Chances are, you've inhabited more than one place in your lifetime; I know I have. I have lived the life of a gypsy, relocating every seven years or so. From the rambling farmhouse I raised my three children in, to a ski lodge in the mountains, to a Soho-style condo in a chic Rhode Island town, to my humble 800-square foot cottage, I have loved, I have inhabited deeply, the energy between all those four walls. I've poured my self into each of these dwellings, and each departure has left me a little tender-hearted. My brother, on the other hand, has only known one place for nearly forty years. When he and his wife married, they began their life in an apartment, but soon moved into a new colonial high up on a rural hill. As his wife lays in a medically-induced Covid coma, I can only imagine the thoughts running through his head around home, this place where they have lived, loved, and raised their only child, my nephew.  

As we embark on a new year of discoveries, look around. Take a moment to soak in, to see, to appreciate your sense of place. Give thanks for the minutes, the hours, the days, weeks and years that you get to be alive in this place that is shaping you, making you who you are, even when you're not looking. And then, if you have a minute, listen to Miranda Lambert's song, The House That Built Me.(https://bit.ly/3pOGZUz)