On my fridge, I have a photo of my son from 13 or 14 years ago holding a baby chick. He’s seated in a chicken coop, cupped hands like a nest. Small as he is, the chick is even smaller. I read on his face a budding capacity for wonder and gratitude. This creature is so precious, and I have the chance to hold it. *I* do. *Me.*
And so I make toast. But not just any toast. It’s the omg-do-you-know-what-would-taste-so-good-right-now-?! toast, also known in my family as “pan toast.” Medium hot skillet. Melted butter. Bread. It’s better than toaster toast because the bread stays moist on the inside. It melts in your mouth. Pan toast is not Pinterest-worthy. It’s not Instagrammable. But it’s everything you ever need: comfort.
I am using “practice” in the sense that one has a practice because a specific kind of activity is regular and frequent (ideally daily). In other words: consistent, engaged and present with.
My question for Nicholson was, when it’s time to steer Cassini straight into Saturn, will you feel sad? Will you miss it? Leave it to a poet to want to understand the depth of our attachments.
I’m trying to be a little more open with my definition of “creating.” I’ve been fairly rigid with it my whole life; if it didn’t involve visual art or writing, I didn’t really give myself credit. What does that even mean?
The Fast Company article says creative folks need three kinds of creative circles — a scene, a network and a community. No matter how you label your support system, I believe in what he has to say. I do think relationships balance out the solitary, internal work we’re called to do.
This blog post isn’t the product of me berating myself because I’d abandoned the damn thing for too long. It isn’t the product of me saying, “Well, Carolee, you know you should…” Instead, it’s the result of being inspired by what I’m hearing around me.