I'm sometimes asked how long it takes for me to write a book.  In my mind I'm thinking, "Years."  My standard answer is, "Usually longer than I think it will."  It can be tempting to "skip to the end."  In other words, only appreciating the end product.  A beautiful cover, engaging back-cover copy and an endorsement from a talented writer.  The final outcome is hours and hours and hours and hours invested over an unknown timeframe.  It isn't healthy to dwell on outcomes.  They are best released.  Far better to concentrate on consistency as one pursues any creative endeavor.  When can I grab a few minutes to write a paragraph or a few measures of music?  It is difficult to find large swaths of time to create for most of us.  We are working full-time, taking care of children or elderly parents.  We are commuting an hour to work, then over an hour to get back home.  NIghtmare traffic.  We have birthdays to attend, bills to pay.  We must get to the gym.  Where do we find any time to pursue art?  Is it even possible?  "I won't think about playing my violin until I retire."  "I'll pull the Julia Child cookbook out when the kids are in school."  "It's too much trouble to get to that theatre production.  I'll have to find parking."  I know.  I say those things too.  "I'll just watch one more re-run of The Big Bang Theory instead of writing a few sentences about the sunset I witnessed on my walk.  I'm tired.  Who really cares anyway?"  Perhaps no one will care.  But eventually I will feel worse that I didn't shut the television off and pull out my journal.  Just writing a few lines can rejuvenate my tired mind and body.  Art does that. 

Oz never gave nothin' to the tin man that he didn't already have.~Lyrics from Tin Man by America

"This is my last day at work," he said.  "Really?  What's going on for you?  Do you have another job?"  I asked.  Andrew swiped the bangs from his forehead and looked at me directly.  His blue eyes glittered with excitement.  "Well, Priscilla, I guess you could say I'm going to another job.  I'm moving to Houston to play with my band full-time.  I leave tomorrow.  We've got quite a few gigs.  We're going on tour, and I'm totally psyched about it--a little scared too."   "Wow," I answered.  "Congratulations. I'll miss you.  All best, Andrew.  I've enjoyed working with you.  I had no idea you were part of a band."  "I know," he said.  "I had to take a 'real job' to pay bills.  I'm taking a risk, but it's now or never."

I couldn't stop thinking about my encounter with Andrew.  Part of me was envious--jealous of his bold decision to follow his heart.  I wanted to get up and leave my frantic pace behind as well--find a more relaxed rhythm for my life.  "Oh, Priscilla.  Stop it.  That's something you can't do.  That's not realistic."  That statement didn't ring quite true.  The more accurate statement:  "Your heart already tells you many of the things you want.  Simple things that you only allow yourself in measure.  What could you do each day to increase delight?  You don't need to move anywhere to begin doing this."

That very afternoon, on my way to the bank, I rolled down all my windows in the car and cranked up seventies music.  That's my decade.  I love the music of Carole King, The Bee Gees, The Carpenters.  America.  The cool air washed over my face, the freedom of singing in the car seemed to release the tension of the day.  I was back in my brown 1977 Camaro again belting out Tin Man, my heart revived.  Something as simple as a fresh breeze and a song conjured the beauty of youth.  I wasn't young anymore, but that carefree girl was still a part of me.  What else, I wondered.  What else could I do to increase my delight in life withough picking up and moving to Houston? 

The conference room was too small--all of us sitting just slightly too close together.  My introverted self rebelled at not having enough personal space.  I gripped my coffee cup, thankful for its comforting warmth.  I attended a development day with my colleagues to determine how we would handle changes coming our way with the expansion of our program.  I looked down at the day's agenda outlined on the handout devised by the program manager.  Small print.  Thin margins.  My anxiety increased.  How would we ever get through all the details?  How would I ever be able to cope with the work set before me?  These changes appeared to imply longer work hours.  Increased stress.  I was a tight rope walker looking down at a yawning canyon with no net in sight.

The day ended, and I breathed a sigh relief, grateful to be released from the small enclosure, and left wondering how I would ever be able to accomplish the tasks expected of me.  I wanted to give up.  I wanted to quit.  I wanted to explore how I might retire earlier than planned.  The work load seemed too much.  It was too much.  Impossible.

There is a slight lifting of the air so I can smell the earth for the first time, and yesterday I took possession of my life here.~May Sarton

In tenth grade I felt my way through geometry.  I made a B in that class, but I don't know how I passed.  I'd learn a concept, but then the construct would fly from my head.  Angles.  Points. Lines.  They all simultaneously perplexed and intrigued me.  I had a light bulb moment when I finally caught on to geometric sequencing...2, 6, 18, 54...a geometric progression with a common ratio of 3.  This concept makes me think of my life sequencing now, my life's progression.

I pulled the string on the blinds, like unzipping the day, the sky milky, a few raindrops falling on the windowpane.  A lone bird sang--its melody piercing the dreary day.  I wanted to be that bird--to have a song on my lips.  Yet inside all I could think about was all I had to do.  Get to the filing stacked in the corner, falling over and spilling onto the floor.  Wasn't staying organized on the computer supposed to stop the paper pile up?  My mind raced...laundry, take a walk, help my husband with yardwork, write emails, devise menus for the week, clean the bathroom, sign up for conference, work on taxes, practice language, verb drills, banking. I had the day off.  Surely the time didn't have to consist solely of "to-dos."  Surely there could be something more appealing than the list I'd stored up in my mind.  I snapped the blind shut and whispered, "Stop.  Don't do this to yourself.  Surely, this non-stop flurry in your brain is not what God would have for you this day."  I asked a question then.  "God, what would you have for me today?"  Then He posed this question to me: "What part of your kingdom inheritance do you want most this day?"   "I want to be unpressured.  I want peace.  I want to feel unhurried," I said.  "You possess those things in me.  Take them.  Sit down.  Rest."

I opened the blinds again.  I could see the little bird now.  He perched on a thin tree branch, gusts of wind making the limb bob up and down.  But still he sang, his eyes shiny black beads.  He seemed to be encouraging me to come outside with his sweet warbling.  I donned my rain jacket and headed out to the tidal creek.  I prayed as I walked.  "God I want to learn to rest, let go, inside this beautiful, chaotic world, but sometimes I don't know what this means for me--what would you have me do?"