First Things First

It’s 6:00 am on a Sunday and already I’m learning life lessons…yes, I’m a bit of an overachiever.

Generally, I am not an early bird. I prefer my inspiration to come sometime between 10pm and 3am; I am at my best when the rest of the world is slipping into dreams. But this morning, for some reason (we’ll discuss that later) I decided to get up. My mind was working overtime, words and ideas pouring in and I felt it would be an inexcusable waste to ignore them in favor of the sleep my body was crying for. So I got up, crept out of the house and headed to Starbucks (they cater to early birds). I was feeling particularly proud of myself as I drove in semi-darkness. I was up, inspired and on my way to create literary miracles. That’s when it happened.

People talk about the ‘still, small voice’, I can say that I have experienced it; the voice of reason that slides in unexpected to warn, to chastise, to encourage. This morning my still small voice sounded more like James Earl Jones…on a bullhorn. As I sat at the light, nodding along to Billy Joel, organizing my thoughts and plot ideas I heard it.

‘What about me?’

Everyone talks to God differently I suppose. Some people are really formal but that’s not how it works for me. I skip the thee’s, thou’s, wherefore’s and shall not’s. And on the occasion when He’s got something to say to me He just says it, plain and easily understood …which I appreciate. So that’s why I immediately understood just where this loud voice was coming from- and what it meant.

It is Sunday morning at 6am. I am up and about, working hard to make dreams come true. I’m feeling proud of myself for my early morning dream chasing. But while I spend this time chasing the dream I have seemingly forgotten the dream giver. I have forgotten to make the main thing the main thing.

It’s not the first time. On most morning, before my feet even hit the floor, I’m already making ‘to do’ lists, thinking about work, and my daughter, wondering what I’ll make for dinner, how I’ll work on the plot twist that came to me in sleep, how many words I’ll manage to knock out today. Sadly, prayer is not always the first thing I do (even if it should be) and God is not always the first person I talk to (even if he should be). And even if I’m fully aware that there is not true greatness or success possible when He’s left out of the equation – there are more days than not when I set off, alone, without even a consideration that the creator of the universe is waiting and willing to go with me – If I’d only ask.

I’ve been given the honor using something I love to touch the world and in my haste (and yes…sometimes arrogance) I’ve forgotten that doing it on my own is not an option. God and I…we’re supposed to be team. But this morning I left him in the dugout and tried to hit a home run all on my own.

Maybe you’ve experienced this…I venture a guess that most of us have. So excited about a grand idea, a dream whose possibilities seem real and endless that you set out alone to make it happen.

Thanks for the idea God, I can take it from here.

This morning I realized just how much folly is in that statement; and it made me sad and more than a bit disappointed in myself. Now there are some of you reading this who may not agree; who may not even believe in God. I considered not even posting this; scared to alienate my audience. But to deny my belief in God is to deny part of who I am – and the source of the dream I cherish.

And so I sat outside the Starbucks, watching the soft rays of light begin to paint the morning sky and I started over. I apologized…I told you, God and I are old friends; we talk to each other just like I would anyone else. And if I had slighted any other friend an apology would be in order. So I told him I was sorry, and that I was wrong. I didn’t just apologize for this morning, but for all the mornings that, in my haste to start my day I forget to acknowledge that He’s the reason my eyes opened at all. I apologized for every time I’ve set out to achieve the impossible and forgotten to acknowledge the Master of the Impossible. I poured out my heart and like a good friend I know He listened; clean slates all around.

I think I’m ready to begin – again, now. There are still ideas and thoughts and vestiges of literary magic playing at the corners of my mind, but now the responsibility to bring them to life doesn’t rest with me alone. I’m a part of a team – and the most important part of that team isn’t me; because at the end of the day I am only the vessel. I didn’t invent the dream – I’m just the one He loved enough to give it to. I didn’t make the plan, I’m just the one He’s trusting to follow it.

It’s 7am and I’m sitting in Starbucks watching the world wake up. My fingers are poised and ready. My mind is open and listening. The star player has been called out of the dugout and I’m ready for Him to bring us in a home run.

Good morning God, what say we do some writing…together.

Die Empty

I’ve heard it said that the richest place in the world is the cemetery. There among the headstones, in a sea of names, there are stories of lives lived well and full – dreams fulfilled and obstacles overcome. But in that same place there are an untold number of other stories; cures for illnesses that were never discovered, books never written, love never pursued, dreams never chased, lives cut short by pain, trial and bad decisions. It’s a sad thing to consider, dying without ever having really lived, and I’ve often had cold sweat moments when I’ve imagined myself among them, at the end of my life sitting somewhere with one clear question on my lips.

“What If?”

What if I had tried? What if I had given myself a chance? What if I’d ignored the haters, the naysayers and the Negative Nancy’s (who seem magnetically drawn to dreamers might I add)? What if I’d chased down every dream in my heart? What if I’d been crazy enough to believe they could come true?

Regret is a horrible thing. I don’t want to live with it now, and I certainly don’t want to spend my last minutes buried in it. But I’m going to tell you a secret. Lean close…make sure no one’s eavesdropping. Ready? Here it is.

We don’t have to.

We don’t have to live unfulfilled then die with regret. We don’t have to let the ‘what if’s’ drive us crazy or the naysayers weigh us down. There is an alternative. But, I warn you, it’s not easy. Because the truth is that as painful as regret is, in the long run it’s pretty easy to get there. The road to regret is paved with good intentions and a lack of action. You don’t have to DO anything to arrive at regret. In fact, that’s the best way to get there…by doing nothing. Living a fulfilled life, on the other hand, requires some boot strap pulling, some in the face of fear flying, and lots of raw, unadulterated courage.

Live Full. Die Empty.

It’s something my dad has always said and I’ve adopted it as a motto of sorts. The first time he said it I played the words over in my head, dissected them, concentrated way too hard on them and eventually ended up with this definition. Die Empty means…Die Empty. I know…I am profound.

But really it is simple. We were all placed on this earth with a wealth of riches inside. Everyone’s stockpile is different, but everyone has one; something that makes you special, something that makes you different. Some purpose you were put on this earth for that is unique to you, that will make both you and the world around you a better place when it’s pursued. Some people heal sick bodies; some people have the sort of athletic prowess that allows us to forget our problems for a few hours when we watch them. Some people invent things that make life easier, some people remind us that life isn’t easy for everyone and push us to do something about that. There are a million ways we are all valuable; a million dreams that lay inside our hearts just waiting for us to draw them out into our lives.  But there aren’t a lot of people willing to take the plunge and dive head first into living…really living, without hiding behind excuses.

I know this is true, because I was once part of the League of Extraordinarily Regretful People (sounds fancy but really it’s not…we let everybody in…getting out is the hard part). I had a million dreams and just as many reasons for not pursuing them. I was too young, or too old. I was too fat, not attractive enough, not educated enough, I didn’t know the right people, I didn’t have time, I didn’t have money…and the list goes on. I’m sure you have a list like this: all the reasons why you can’t do that thing you’re just dying to do.  All the reasons it won’t work, can’t work. All the fears of what might happen if you fail; or what might happen if you succeed.

It’s scary isn’t it? Standing on the precipice, looking into the future, throwing caution to the wind and making the decision to run out into life full tilt, arms akimbo, screaming at the heavens ‘Bring it on!’.

Scary, yes…and maybe a little crazy.

But it’s the only way. It’s like a swimming pool. You can spend your life dipping in your toe, waiting for the water to be warm enough. Or you can close your eyes, taking a running start and cannonball into your future. It might be cold at first; but we’ll adjust.

So let’s do it. Take my hand (it’s shaking I know…I’m a little scared still), and I’ll take yours.  Now close your eyes and get a picture in your head. See yourself doing it…whatever it is you dream. I know it looks hard, maybe even impossible. That’s why we have each other…you’re not in it alone. You’re surrounded by an army of dreamers…the ones beside you, the ones who came before you, and even the ones behind you – waiting to see if you’re brave enough to take the leap.

Are you ready? Me too. Let’s do it!

The Best Laid Plans...

I am a list maker. A planner. A reader of maps.

I do not like to go somewhere new unless I have the address in my GPS, the directions in my purse...and the person on the phone if possible. I don't like to be lost and I prefer to begin a trip with the destination in mind. You will likely never see me in a van (shag carpet optional) travelling across the country letting the open road tell me where to go...no open road directed adventures for me.

But things change...despite my best attempts to prevent them from doing so.

I've chosen to be a writer. Or, more accurately, writing has chosen me. And it would appear that in order to follow this dream...chase it down and beat it into submission, I must on some level give up my ability to control things. I can control what I write but I cannot control how it is received, who will publish it, what agent will be gracious enough to entertain my notions of future fame. I can control my level of discipline, my mastery of the craft and my commitment to my vision. But I cannot control when or if I will ever see my face on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. And since Oprah's gone off the air the whole Book of The Month club thing is pretty much out of my hands as well.

While I would love to say that I am handling this well, being mature and saying to myself...'self, accept the things you cannot control',  that would be a very large lie. I am often kicking, screaming, throwing myself to the floor and acting like a child. I do not like to give up control. I do not like leaving my fate in the hands of another. And I really don't like starting out on this path with no idea where it will take me.

These are all things that were flying through my brain this morning as I took to the road to run errands and clear my head. I was listening to Adele, thinking of the future and praying for inspiration. All I could seem to muster up was a fairly detailed grocery list. But right in between mentally writing down the frozen peas and the Diet Coke it dawned on me. Normally I hate when people use the phrase but I swear that's how it happened. One minute I was stuck in the gloomy space between discouragement and defeat and the next the fog lifted and clarity appeared.

I am a writer. If I do my job correctly there will be people around the world sitting down and agreeing to take the journey I recommend. They'll open my book and for whatever time they have, follow me through a maze of emotions and situations that are unfamiliar. And if I'm really good they'll get to the end and say "I didn't know this was where I was going to end up...but it was a really great ride!". I am asking them to trust that whatever angst I may take them through, my intent is to bring them to a place of satisfaction that makes the journey worth it.

I cannot ask the reader to do something that I, as the writer, am unwilling to do. There will be times, probably a lot of them, when I have no idea what is going to happen. There will be days when I'm going to have to start walking even if I can't see the staircase (MLK,Jr.). Needless to say...I am now sufficiently chastised.

So in 2 minutes I am going to start again. I'm going to take a deep breath, close my eyes and commit to enjoying the ride. Because, as E.L. Doctorow said, "Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

5...4...3...2...1...Go!