“That the things in life which don’t go to plan are usually more important, more formative, in the long run, than the things that do.”  

― Maggie O’Farrell, I Am, I Am, I Am : Seventeen Brushes With Death

I am grateful for the things that don’t go to plan. (This includes this newsletter that I had to send twice…) Let me breathe and say that again and again and again and again. I am grateful for the things that don’t go to plan. I am grateful for the things that don’t go to plan. I am grateful for the things that don’t go to plan.

My current day-to-day is rife with things that don’t go to plan. The band-aids of superficial positivity seek to stave the flow of doubt, fear, anger, and shame. It seems the things that don’t go to plan are the genesis of doubt, fear, anger, and shame. In that way, acknowledging, honoring, and growing through them is the key to freeing all plans. It seems the things that don’t go to plan are the cracks where the light gets in. Let me explain. As Leonard Cohen reflects, “Ring the bells that still can ring, Forget your perfect offering, There’s a crack in everything, That’s how the light gets in.” What if the things that don’t go to plan allow us to see the light — our light? It seems the things that don’t go to plan allow us to laugh at making any plans. Not that we wander from day to day, moment to moment, choice to choice in a reactionary spiral of questions, overwhelm, and anxiety. Instead, plans are connected to paying attention, listening, and remaining soft and open.

I am grateful for things that don’t go to plan. I am grateful for poetry and prose. They teach me about language and life. I am grateful for detours. They teach me about discovery. I am grateful for edges. They teach me about growth. I am grateful for questions. They teach me about clarity. I am grateful for seasons. They teach me about perfect time.

What I Keep Learning

Happy 30th Birthday AmeriCorps

It was a sunny day in September of 1994 in Indianapolis, Indiana. I had signed up to serve in the inaugural year of AmeriCorps. Hundreds stood in the Indiana Statehouse — alongside 22,000 others across the country — prepared to be part of something that would build our communities. It was the first time I had ever been inside the statehouse of the state where I had lived most of my life. I remember the awe and sense of responsibility I felt that morning. I was excited and scared. It all felt big and important.

Read more about my AmeriCorps experience.

Writing Lives

I attended the Ellmann Lectures at Emory University this past weekend. Distinguished poet Natasha Trethewey was the invited speaker. To say I question my writing life would be an understatement. To say it feels completely comfortable calling myself a writer would be to ignore the imposter syndrome that plagues every pitch I send, blog I post, and essay I publish. To say that reading and writing daily makes me a writer does not satisfy me either. Yesterday was about breaking through a bit of that noise and remembering why I write. I came across Natasha Trethewey’s work when she was named United States Poet Laureate. (I read a ton of poetry, so her work was and is front and center in the poetry conversation.) I immediately fell in love with — and wrote about — her poem, Theories of Time and Space. 

Read more about Writing Lives.

Habit Tracking: A Cardiac MRI

Habit tracking right now means simply keeping up. Keeping up training for the half marathon at the end of April. Keeping up doing yoga. Keeping up writing in my journal. Keeping up sending out writing pitches. Keeping up with doctors’ appointments. Last week, I had a Cardiac MRI. Specifically, according to my chart, “a multi-sequence, multiplanar magnetic resonance imaging of the chest was performed without and with intravenous gadolinium according to an angiography protocol.” It was my third cardiac MRI in the last 15 years. The necessity to have the test is one of the gifts of having Turner syndrome. (I have a dilated aorta that doctors have to keep an eye on.)

Read more about my Cardiac MRI experience.

Paying Attention

1. I am. I am. I am. : Seventeen Brushes with Death, by Maggie O’Farrell — My current read.
2. Sky Coffee Brickell — Here is an introduction to Rosana’s cafe that I wrote about last week.
3. Seamus Heaney’s Ellman Lectures, 30 Years On, by Keith Schuchard— More about the Ellman Lectures.
4. Women’s History Month — USA Today March is Women’s History Month. 
5. Encouraging Poetry Through Community Service — PBS News Hour Natasha Tretheway and her work in communities.