It is remarkable how the ordinary and the existential are always stuck together, like the pages in a book so timeworn that the print has transferred from one to the other.~Kathryn Schulz (From Lost & Found)

I have a great love for and dependence on the concept of finding increments in one's life. I was introduced to the idea by Julia Cameron, the beloved author of The Artist's Way. I consider her a virtual mentor. I've mentioned her countless times over the years of writing these blog posts. She often reminds me that it is the small steps that add up, the increments over time that create something new--a book, a home, a relationship, a play, a painting, a song. A poem. There is always a choice when the day unfolds to choose an increment. There is nothing too ordinary. It is often in the mundane task that we find the most relief for our anxiety or melancholy. That scrubbing motion on the hood of a car or on a window pane that leaves us just a bit more hopeful when we view the shine, feel the slight pang from using our arm muscles. Often one microscopic action leads to another. "While I washed the car, I got an idea for my song. Think I'll go write down the lyrics, pluck it out on my guitar." 

We can always ask, "What's next for today?"

Often I need props to keep moving--the smell of citrus in my diffuser, a hot cup of green tea, playing Yiruma (one of my favorite artists) on YouTube, or out-and-out bribery. "Okay, after you take your walk, you can sit down at the table and place a few pieces in your jigsaw puzzle." I think that's one reason I enjoy working puzzles. Each segment I fit together is a metaphor for the notion of increments. Piece by piece a picture emerges. Eventually all the action steps create a finished product.

But do we ever stop finding increments? It seems they are infinite, and perhaps this is a blessed truth, as then we always have the choice to keep growing. And there's no pressure. There is always a next increment from which to choose. And the action is so close we can reach out and touch it. Doable.

Write the next sentence.

Wash the next dish. 

Pay the next bill.

Attend the next ZOOM meeting.

Say the next prayer.

Buy the next blank canvas for the image residing in your imagination.

Practice the next song in your car while you drive to work.

Text your husband (or your wife or your partner or your friend) and tell him that you love him.

And when the next thing is really difficult, we can break the increment into another increment. 

Steady on. You're okay.