Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Working title.

August 5, 2016


So often, I think, we don't feel comfortable risking anything unless what we're putting out there is as finished a product as possible. No wonder we end up procrastinating, excusing, and subconsciously sabotaging ourselves. 


See, here's the thing, I think, that trips us up (especially in the West): we don't like to be beginners, and we don't like to admit we don't know how to do something. But I've got to say, as uncomfortable as it is to walk in, wide-eyed and brimming with intentions and ideas, but admit you have no idea how to get to the point you've envisioned, it's such a relief to put all of that down in front of someone who's been there, who was once where you were. It's such a relief to then sit down and say, "Here's what I've got; any chance you can help me sort it? Because I have no idea how this particular life-filing system works."


And then stop talking. Start listening. Don't go on and on about the successes in your life prior to this, because this thing? This new thing? It's not a success (yet). It's a young thing, a beginning thing, a dependent thing. And there's no shame in that. In fact, there's nothing but badass courage in that. So many people stay in routine misery because it's safe with little potential for new joy. 


Sure. You might make huge mistakes on this new path, but they'll be daring. Colorful. All part of this interpretive, freeform art we call life, success, career.


Broad strokes, petals. Bold colors. You're washable, and this room is repaintable. 









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This Quiet Earth