I’m often asked what it’s like to be a writer — how I spend my days, how I experience the world. And so I will be sharing occasional essays from the front lines of my writing life. In this essay, I express the my gratitude for this life of creativity and purpose.
I would like to thank the sun for coming through my window this morning, casting strips of shadows through the blinds and onto the floor. They were the ladder rungs I used to climb out of bed and into the bathroom.
I would like to thank my sink and the cool fountain water I cupped to my cheeks. Splash, splash. Tingle.
I would like to thank my mirror — but forget that one. The mirror’s too judgmental, and so early in the morning! Bad mirror, bad mirror.
So instead I will thank my teal towel that gently rubbed and opened my eyes so I might see the day and pray to make it a good one.
I would like to thank the day for showing up yet again, whatever the season or reason. I love how it weaves its fingers through mine and gently tugs: “Let’s begin.”
And I would like to thank the universal powers that be, whatever their shape or name, for the periodic wisdom that allows me to follow my purpose, with trust.