My Muse

This weekend has been nothing short of busy.

You know the one where you're looking forward to Monday just so that you can catch your breath.

And through the in's and out's of all there is to do, my discipline for working on a short story writing assignment per my friendly throw-down contest with an undergrad friend is well, not going so well.

Why is it so hard to say goodbye to the to-do's and carve out space for the creative process?

Where do we find our inspiration?

Where is our muse?

Staring off into an oblivion listening to music, "Bright Lights and Cityscapes" by Sara Bareilles came on...take a listen.

And then it came.  It's as though, as the writer, you yearn to be inhabited by the muse...whomever she may be.  You want her to come on like a freight train and you to be ready, the vessel, through which the message will be delivered to the world.  You, the noticer, the observer, the pen....and she the bright lights and cityscapes.  And somewhere in the process, you're exhilarated, mystified, worn out,  never wanting her to leave you...but then, as all good things do, she must go.  And you're left holding the pen wondering when she'll return, exhausted and a bit sad.

I'm certain the creatives find inspiration in the most mundane and the most majestic of spots.  Their partners, blades of grass, color, tragedy, love, desire, washing the dishes, a toe nail, cancer, the birth of a baby.

The world is filled with stories begging to be told.  But sometimes, no matter how hard you try or how deeply you pay attention or how frequently you show up to write, your muse is no where to be found.

It is in these moments that I've decided to stop chasing her and instead to invent her or to recreate her based on the stories inside my heart or those I create in others.

I suppose at the end of the day, muse or no muse, the goal is to keep writing...to keep creating...to keep being the vessel, trusting that the words and the tales need to be told, if only for the benefit of me.

You...Through My Eyes

I watch you.

I know it's not easy.

Especially, when the washing machine breaks for the third time and you find yourself 'you-tubing' how to change out pumps and fix drain blockages and crazy shit that used to be reserved for him.

I see that you're tired.

Managing everything.  Making sure that your little ones have what they need for school, their extracurricular activities, their spiritual development, their overall well-being.  This at the same time that you contend with the battery that dies in the car and that pesky tire that gives you heartburn.

Oh and then there's your job.  You're kind of a rock star.  You make the hard stuff look easy and unfortunately, because you're so good, just like at home, people are constantly in need of your expertise.  And because you were a born 'go-to' gal, you never say no.

You bring the snacks and the birthday treats to the classroom.

You stay up late making Halloween costumes and fostering rescue animals.

You refuse to kill spiders or rodents or anything that comes along your path, even if it's a nuisance.

And any stray anything would be lucky to stumble upon you, because odds are, you would make it a part of your family.

Speaking of which...even though it doesn't look like the traditional one...you have cultivated a family.  A real live, beautiful, imperfect, connected family.

And even when the shit hits the fan, you do it.  You defy the word divorce and you embrace the word love.  You stare fear in the face and you fight it with determination and sheer grit.

You are strong.  You have weathered more than most.

And you are beautiful.  God, you are beautiful.

And everyone who meets you or is privileged to get to be a part of your inner circle sees that you radiate loyalty, warmth, kindness and a spirit of generosity that is second to none.

I stand in admiration of the life that you've created for you and your children.

And I just think sometimes, we need to be told. 

You...through my eyes...is amazing.

Moments of Random Inspiration

My alarm went off at 4:30am, and I thought, "you've got to be kidding."

I made my way to the kitchen, started the coffee, turned to the bathroom to put on my gear and in my birthday suit, decided to step on the scale.  Let me preface my comments by saying, I hate the scale.  I think it's a silly, arbitrary and over glamorized measuring stick for progress.  I much prefer how I feel in my favorite pair of jeans or my "fuck me boots"...which are still a work in progress.

But damn it, if it didn't shock me.  Internally hooting and hollering, I went off to spin class with a new lease on the morning.

And then I arrived.  And then I sweat my ass off.  Literally.  I wiped the bike down and my ass off of it when the instructor called time.

Waiting for my friend to do planks with me, I started to stretch and noticed the most amazing site ever.  A woman whom I'm guessing was in her 70's...was working out with a personal trainer.  Upon doing her final push up, she screamed, "FUCK!"  Her trainer stood paralyzed and I looked right at her.  She looked at the wall and said, "Sometimes, it just calls for it." 

Hell yes, it does.  Inspiration.  Staring at me from the eyes of a woman who was strong as shit. 

Bit by bit.  I'm getting there.  It's exciting shedding the old me.  I'm curious what this new girl will be up to.  I think she might be a little feisty.  Watch out.