Words are born in my life regularly and molded genuinely, lit up from a spirit of desiring deep connection. Projects take on a life of their own, coaxing me to follow their lead as I continue putting one foot in front of the other. With this hope, I believe my baby steps will eventually cover a mile and climb a mountain.
Without any promise of success at the peak, peace surrounds my every move as I relax into the rhythm of daily work accepting that the vision at the summit may only be seen by me and a few companions who travel along with me.
The end-point is not always the goal. And in the case of creative development, it is even more clear that the journey only refines the goal. Yet hope reaches out for all of us with it’s supportive caress, even if we have not yet arrived.
Joys of life are often discovered in today’s moments without eyes on tomorrow or our hearts being lost in the struggles of yesterday. Take notice of what gives you hope as it surrounds you. Let it guide your steps forward. And when you think you’ve arrived, contentedly accept there is always a next leg in the journey.
“Idealism is a seed of naïveté once planted in a youthful heart that grew into a tree of hopefulness.” – Erika K Rothwell
It’s Monday again. Yes I am moving forward with hope. Yet, my mind stays persistently intertwined with the past. Stuck in an observation mode, I cling to new ideas as if a collection of fine jewelry meant to be coveted rather than worn.
The day seems too simple to be adorned in bright shiny new ideas. So, reflection pulls me deeper into acceptance of my inability to complete any one of my projects in progress and I find an odd sense of comfort in stagnation.
I turn my attention to the view outside my window where the bird couple has landed on the tree branch. I am reminded, once again, of the fleeting moments that pass by my eyes of observation, pleading to be captured in words. However, with the best plan in place, the hours still burn up in the heat of day, and I am left with ashes of intent.
I reread my words of the past, rediscovered today, in a note written to myself months ago. “Idealism is a seed of naïveté once planted in a youthful heart that grew into a tree of hopefulness.” My daydream is insistent and alive, albeit buried beneath the surface of deeply packed minutia.
A state of reflection along with my strange preoccupation with fantastical imagery, draws me into a centrifuge of swirling thoughts, finding myself unable to categorize or prioritize.
And as the birds fly away, I am left only with the “tree of hopefulness” and a reminder to persevere…
The heaviness of my heart lands on my fingertips today. I begin to move toward clarity yet the message that calls to be written hides behind a veil of obscurity.
So many times confident words leave my heart driven by the power of a story I tell myself. At times, this story is crafted as a wish for you as well so that you may not get caught in the sticky web of regret. Memories of my past indiscretions forgotten by most observers live violently free in a world created by the harshest critic, me.
Yet the redemptive power of the word saves my soul. Each word painstakingly chosen to craft a story of hope.
Hope is the answer for redemption. Calling on deliverance, writing can move shattered hearts in the direction of a lifeline.
Your words and mine may intertwine to reach the same objective, to free people to be who they were created to be. Dwelling on a hurtful past does not bring a good future. And the work of my spirit today is to share hope. A hope that carried me from harmed and harmful (to self) to helpful. The pain of the past does not need to build a wall.
Breaking down the barriers between harm and help redeems us all.
Simplicity does not signify weakness nor unimportance.
Small forces that appear insignificant can cause powerful effects. A tiny drop of water over time can drill its way into rock. Words of hope written from one’s heart and understated actions can dig deep into the crevices of our beings.
There is a world to be found in simplicity. Treasures, discovered in the appreciation of just one word or even a small gesture.
The simple letters in H-O-P-E continue to spell out a life-changing motivation for me. However, at times my search for hope becomes disguised as a quest for happiness.
And I discover, seeking happiness is not equal to simply being happy.
Yet if you are a believer that happiness can be found, it must reside in the simplest, yet a most profound, symbol of joy on this planet that is neglected when we forget to smile.
How many times have we caught ourselves in a tense situation because we forgot to smile? Or rather, how many times have we gotten out of a sticky situation because we chose to smile?
Our simple and genuine smile shares positivity with others and conveys our hope of happiness for them.
Connection with words can be much like a smile. I send you my smile and a final thought.
Smiling will make your heart happy, no matter what you may be facing. It’s really that simple.
I wrote something dishonest today. Not the typical lie you would imagine. But it came to me, my heart was not connected to what I wrote. I typed the words, I read the words, but in the end, I did not believe the words.
So, here I am speaking my truth with a question. Why do we work against ourselves and sometimes stop speaking (or writing) our truth?
We know how to reach for authenticity but at times life’s unexpected forces drag us down the path of necessity. Once we learn to surrender that genuine connection, we slowly lose the energy necessary to support our dreams and our creativity.
What if we woke every morning infused with energy to create our dreams? What if we had trouble closing our eyes at night because we could hardly wait to wake and get back to living. Living, not existing. That is authenticity. Recognize when you are moving away from it.
Because hope does not promise instant gratification, rather than struggle with the words to express positivity, I will wait. The energy I work against is confusion or simply congestion in my head. Sharing a joyous heart today may not be the answer.
Perhaps it is the outside environment that weighs me down. Or possibly the work I did this morning on my memoir. Recognizing the pain in the process sometimes requires a pause. And another cup of tea.