Weekly Wide-Awake #61

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Weekly Wide-Awake #61

Summer Solstice. Teddy Bears. Hidden Doors. Seth Godin

This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath. — Margaret Atwood

This past weekend was the Summer Solstice. I choose to look at this time as a time of unlocking and letting go. I choose to look at this time as a time of the future and caught breath. I choose to look at this time as a time of light finding the cracks and making magic. I forgive myself for not having gotten it all done this year, so far. I forgive myself for not having gotten it all done in this lifetime, so far. I forgive myself for failures, so far. I forgive myself for failures in this lifetime.

This is the perfect time to step into the light and begin again. This is the perfect time to drive at night in the fog. This is the perfect time to move through and beyond and seek something bigger and more loving. This is the perfect time to open the door. This is the perfect time for imagination to create headlights and doors and maps.

Living the Comma #34

Headlights. Joy. Ross Gay.

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” ―E.L. Doctorow

Dear Writer Friends,

I am struggling. It is summer. I want to take a huge trip to somewhere amazing. My elderly cats — that I love dearly — cannot decide on a food that they like to eat. And, on top of all that, there was cage match on the White House lawn. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere. In an effort to maintain, I just finished a two-week writing challenge. I am taking a writing class. I have restarted my exercise program for the 187th time. And, I am planning our writing group that will start again in September.

I am definitely relying on headlights to take the trip right now. The night. The fog. The fact that — for better or worse — I am not wired to turn away. It is a lot. So, I write. I write to sort things out. I write to yell and scream and sing and dance in a safe place. I write to find the words. I write to remember all the things — both the big and the small. I write to connect with others and myself. I write to keep my word to my creative self that I will create something every day. I make the whole trip that way.

Read entire post here.

The Door in the Ordinary

The hidden door to Tirta Empul

The Impossible Opening

There is a historical brick factory across the street from my house. In front of the factory (now a renovated, historically designated, art gallery/house) there is a worn, uneven path made from bricks crafted of Georgia clay.

In walking toward the trail to where the brick path leads, I noticed the loose brick dusted in magical gold. I reached down to pick up the beautiful glittering square and noticed a large wooden door with worn iron handles at the back of the factory slowly opening. The afternoon sun could not hide the light beams dancing from the door. I gingerly walked toward the door, like the new kitten who lives next door and fearlessly moves in the direction of magic.

Read entire post here.

Getting to Cleveland: A Conversation with Seth Godin

On acting “as if,” failure, starting, and thank you notes.

Seth Godin was my first “Yes.” Let me explain. In 2017, heartbroken and eyeballs deep in despair, I started searching for things for which to be grateful. I asked myself the question asked by poet Katie Farris

“Why write love poetry in a burning world? To train myself, in the midst of a burning world, to offer poems of love to a burning world.”

I reached out to people who — in the way in which they live — write love poems to our burning world. I cast my net far and wide amongst my heroes — those I knew personally and those who teach us all by their example. I invited artists, philosophers, psychologists, politicians, professors, yogis, writers, clergy, and others into a dialogue about gratitude. I am deeply grateful to those who said yes.

My first conversation was with Seth Godin. I originally shared it on the website Grateful Living. It feels right to share our conversation right here and now. I could run out of breath describing how Seth moves about the world, making it a more creative, excellent, and generous place. (Click here to read more about Seth.) Our conversation holds a special place in my heart. I am grateful for Seth. I have told him so. He inspires me with his thinking and writing. He teaches me about the value of my tribe, making and keeping promises, and what it means to show up daily and be remarkable.

Read interview here.

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