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Mostly I like to write. Which seems to be one of the things many people are less willing to pay for these days. My dream life looks like waking up in the morning, making coffee and writing. And somehow having all the money I need to pay the bills and do more than just live.

More and more, I find myself half-heartedly reaching for a glass ball in mid-swan drive.

In all this time, I have managed to do a few things. I mentioned those two degrees. And I passed the state bar. And I’ve gotten two people off death row. And helped a handful of others turn their lives around.

I’ve traveled to Europe and Asia. I ran a full marathon. And a bunch of half marathons. I found a girl, got married, and have managed to keep a child alive for 9 years now.

I’ve written two novels. I recently received an award for the second one. And I faithfully contributed an essay to a local magazine every single month for six years in a row.
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​What kind of a warrior is that? What kind of battle would I ever be suited for if a simple song on my morning commute turns me into a river in flood.

We want to feel alive again.

A feeling is just like a dream monster. The more you’re afraid of it, the more it will haunt you. The only thing to do is to turn around and look it in the eye. Shake its hand, invite it to sit down for tea (or whiskey). Then ask it why it has come, what it wants to tell you.

Feelings are kind of like cats. They’ll come when they’re ready. They’ll rub against your leg for a minute, let you touch them. And pretty soon they’ll be ready to go back outside. But if you ignore them, look out. You have to sleep sometime.

​Sweet dreams.

Also, last year was a tough one for me, like I know it was for many of you. First there was the perpetual disappointment of the political news, with its daily heartbreak and outrage and no time to recover before the next day’s atrocity was splattered on the sidewalk in front of us.

And so, truthfully, I find myself at the beginning of 2018 a little bit lost. The blank page can be a bit terrifying. I know what I need to do, break out the colors and start painting my new year. Otherwise, instead of living into the year I’ve created, the year will just happen to me. And it may not look anything like I want.

And yes, I am not there right now. And I could have waited to write this until I was there. But that wouldn’t help those of you in the same place as me right now. Our words are bridges to each other. And I want to continue to build those bridges.

Have the courage to sit down at the blank page, the white canvas, the lump of clay. Be brave enough to spill some ink on the paper, to touch the brush to the canvas, to get your hands in that messy clay. And to just keep doing it, no matter what happens at first. If you show up often enough, your world will start to change. Because you will start to change.

Guess what, the rules of abundance are no different. They apply to all of us. Of course, you know I hesitate to use the word abundance, heavy as it is these days with the weight of pseudo-spiritual babble. But if you bother to look it up, one of the words used to define abundance is “fullness.” And that, after all, is what life is. Full.

Sit down.

Don’t ignore the answer.
You know what I’m talking about, the answer that popped into your head as soon as I asked you the question. The one you then dismissed immediately as not being true. Yeah, that one.

Ok, so.

Now, tell someone else.

Because the more people thrive, the more the world thrives. And the more permission is spread around for others just like you to figure out their own secret to living a ridiculously full and happy life.

And who doesn’t want that?
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​Our struggles are not curses. They are not mythical demons or punishments for our sins. They are not troubles to be wished away, not obstacles to avoid. There is not another, safer path we should have taken. They are gifts. The trouble is we are conditioned to believe that gifts are only things that come in boxes with wrapping paper and bows. (Or these days, in the last-minute three-dollar bag with colored tissue paper stuffed in the top.)

Whatever.

As humans, we’re possessed of just enough wit to want to know what the angels are talking about, but not quite enough to actually understand them. (You can see why we’d want to wrestle them. They piss us off.) If it feels like this is an unfair situation, that’s because it is. And if you think about it, no one promised us anything about life being fair. (Seriously, look on the back of your ticket if you don’t believe me.) Life is an enter-at-your-own-risk event.

Let me say it another way.

​Life’s kind of like that. We don’t think of it that way, because life is something we do every day all day, not just once, or once every few years. Whenever I have traveled in my life, I wake up every morning excited to face the unknown adventures that await me. When I am back to my daily routines, I strive to remember that I can greet every day just like this. I don’t have to be in another city or country to find adventure or to be excited about my day.

Just kidding.

So give yourself permission to grapple. It’s okay that we don’t have everything figured out. It’s okay that we walk around daily bearing the weight of these small worlds. That our minds are constantly working on these puzzles in the background. That these angels we wrestle make guest appearances in our dreams, our work lives, our arguments with friends and lovers, our endless conversations with ourselves.