“You reach a point where you’re at the bottom of hell, yet you have your arms crossed and a smile on your face, and you feel you’re the luckiest person on earth.” 

― Sarah Lewis, The Rise: Creativity, the Gift of Failure, and the Search for Mastery

I am thinking about the connection between creativity and luck. I am thinking about the generative force that is taking action toward a thing—an idea, a goal, a destination, a desire. I am thinking about the gobsmacking capacity of imagination to actually build neural pathways, and that might mean there is a biological relationship between the brain and luck. I am thinking about paying attention and feeling absolutely in love with what I see. That feels lucky to me. 

I am thinking about being the luckiest person in the world. What does it mean to feel lucky while living in hell? I want to define hell as separation from our source — that feeling of absolute anger, despair, and fear. We have all been there and know. Being the luckiest person in the world right there is where gratitude meets breath. It’s the point where I notice the perfect blossoms on the trees, reminding me that all of this is beautiful and impermanent, the inspirational message tagged on the side of the bridge three times in three different places to make sure I see it, the perfect line in the book the grabs my heart and lingers and sings, the silence after a heart examination meaning things must look alright to my doctors, the realization writing my umpteenth pitch email that the whole process is like a chess match. I am the luckiest person in the world. 

What I Keep Learning

YOU ARE THE WOMAN THAT SOMEONE IS PRAYING FOR

That message is tagged in all caps in several places alongside the Eastside Trail on the Atlanta Beltline. I am sure it was written for me because I know in my bones I need to see it. It is written several times just in case I miss it along the way. It is written in all caps to not so gently remind me that I am not alone, that I am connected and seen and loved. It is personal in the way that a sincere compliment is personal. (I could stand to give more compliments.) It is big enough — in the cosmic sense of big — to remind me of something outside of my head which often spirals, second guesses, sinks to absolutes like never and always, and has internal conversations with people that I am too angry with or scared to talk to. Amidst all that, it is good to know I am the woman someone is praying for. They are praying for us all.

Blossoms In Atlanta

Spring is coming. I see it on my walks. I smell it in the damp air. There is a sense of urgency in the world that has a palpable feel. New life is emerging. Each day is more alive than the last, and I am ready for it. The blossoms remind me of perfect timing and strength. Whole trees burst in green and white and pink and yellow celebration. Looking around, I understand why so much poetry pays attention to spring. Sadness feels different right now. Facts, which can be brutal, are framed in pastel softness that offers options, answers questions, is curious but not pushy, reassures, and comforts. My tears make sense in spring, like the rain that makes flowers grow — harkening depth, encouraging life, and touching sunshine. Metaphors fall short of spring’s possibility. If spring is possible, optimism and hope are possible. It is the perfect time for everything to work out. It works out in nature at exactly the right pace and flow.

Habit Tracking: Thank you, John.

We returned to Run Club after a long hiatus. Run Club was one of the first places we ventured to make friends when we arrived in Atlanta. One of our first friends was John, one of the forces behind the Run Club as a representative of the Atlanta Beltline. John retired, and Thursday was his final Run Club. Finding community is hard when you move to a new place, and John was an immediate connection. (He has continued to connect with us throughout our three years here, even though we have strayed away from Run Club.) Returning to Run Club to celebrate John made sense. Returning to celebrate John was an invitation back into the group. Returning to Run Club fits with our training goals. Returning to Run Club connects us with the friends we have made there. Returning to Run Club is the start of building (returning to) a habit. That’s what I am learning about habits. They need a community to build.

Paying Attention

1. Sarah Lewis, The Rise: Creativity, the Gift of Failure, and the Search for Mastery — My current read.
2. Julie Moss 1982 Ironman Finish — A little motivation this week.
3. Instructions on Not Giving Up, Ada Limon — A springtime poem favorite.
4. Tending Joy and Practicing Delight — An On Being podcast with Ross Gay.
5. The Water is Wide, James Taylor — A song about connection.