Too many opinions, perceptions, activity – all vying for my attention.
(And there isn’t enough attention in the world for all that.)

I find I’m distracted, (and if I were truly honest, numb) more often than I care to think. Numb in the sense that I spend so much of my energy tuned into what is happening around me, how I’m perceived, what will happen in the future, my expectations, hopes, and disappointments… that it’s incredibly difficult to really stay connected to ‘me’.

To stay connected to RIGHT NOW.

I’ve been considering these words lately, the ones that tell me “You can only live your own life.” And if that’s the case, (which, duh, of course it’s the case), I want to really live this life. So I’m separating myself from the noise a little bit…

And maybe in that, in the settling down and zeroing in, maybe I’ll find I actually have a little more to say.

Took this today on my run by the beach...
(My condolences to all of those who got snow today.)

Words, music….

Lately all my notebooks are brick walls.
Brick walls with nothing to say and no reflection.  Too slippery to hold my thoughts.

[I guess these particular brick walls are moss covered...]  

Maybe it’s a matter of becoming my own again. 
Maybe I’m trying to write for someone other than myself. 
Maybe there are seasons, and this is just one of “those” seasons.

Of course I’m just rambling now.
These words, they don’t mean anything.
They’re just a way for me to write myself out of a moss covered brick walled maze.

And just when you thought you had nothing interesting to say, “old” you, the you from spring 2009, she throws you a bone.

Old me, you make me laugh.

“Untitled”

You know that feeling you get when you finally realize that you are completely incapable of something? Defeat, yes. But also – elation. Because when you KNOW you can’t be something, it becomes something you can stop wanting to be.

Take me, for example.

I kind of used to want to be black.

Writers Write
Runners Run

Some days, I don’t feel like a writer. I sit, I try, I mess around on the guitar… But after an hour I stand up, put my guitar back on its stand, and wonder…. What is it that I’m trying to do, exactly?

But I read those words, [Writers Write / Runners Run], and I know that being a writer is more than just a measurable result, a productive feeling or a paycheck.

Being a writer is a choice that requires action.

The comparison, contrasting writing with running, it means something to me now. It means something to me because in the last 6 months I became a runner. And it didn’t happen because I was born a runner. It didn’t happen because running is easy. I didn’t become a runner by magically showing up at the track one morning. I became a runner by choosing to run, over and over and over again.

And so I look at the words, written on a canvas and hanging on my wall.
And I remind myself of truth.

Whatever the goal, whatever the desire..
I can choose to do the thing that transforms me into who I want to be.

[PS, I CANNOT believe this happened over 3 years ago. Wowza!]

SWISS CRAZY KNIFE (4.18.2008)

I work in an office and I sit at a desk.
It’s a desk full of items and quite a bit of mess.
Sometimes I’ll find little trinkets or toys.
Something inevitably bound to bring joy.
They’ve been in my desk drawers for God knows how long,
Left there by workers who now are long gone.
Take today, case in point, when what did I find?
But a mini swiss army knife, like no other kind.
Enscribed with our logo, I showed Sal with glee.
A little confused she said, “what, here, have we?”
“It’s a swiss army knife, Sal. Are you that naieve?”
But she wasn’t listening, and a plan she did weave.
“I know what we’ll do with this knife,” said she.
“I’ve got an idea; it’s just what we need.”
“Remember that dark chocolate bunny you got?”
“It’s this knife we’ll use when it needs to be cut!”
So I know that this knife is the best kind of gift,
It’s a Swiss CRAZY knife to give our spirits a lift.

I’m a for-real, bona-fide, cute-outfit-wearing runner now. I can run 7 miles! Before January, I’d never run more than 3 miles in my life. So this is huge.

Not only that, but pretty soon I’ll be running 13.1 miles

THIRTEEN.POINT.ONE

[I know!]

The thing is, I’m not just running for my good health. I’m running with a team to support Compassion International. It’s a great organization that works with churches all over the world to help children living in poverty. I love what they do (and love getting letters from the girl I sponsor, Celine).

Would you consider supporting us?

[We are running a heck of a long way, after all.]

To find out more about Compassion or donate to our cause, click here. You’ll get more information about why we’re running – and it’s super easy to give.

Questions? Just ask! I’d love for you to be a part of this.

[And then maybe I'll write a song about you and it will go something like this:

“Jenny gave to our cause.
She is really, really hot…”

See? That could be you! What more could you want in this life?
Support a great cause and get a song written after you…

Now that’s what I call bi-winning.

It’s a time problem, really.
I have an on-time problem.

Just try to make me late, I dare you.

Me?
Late?
An impossibility.

Even when I try. (Yes, sometimes I try.)
Even when I think I will be late.
I’m still on-time.
Early even.

(Unless I’m going to work.)

In which case…
Well, let me put it this way..

Sometimes I work late.

³You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

⁴You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

⁵You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

⁶You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

⁷You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

⁸You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

I asked for this
(though honestly, I didn’t want it)
for me, you weren’t enough
aren’t enough

but my clutching, my clawing
my anxious, my desperate -
won’t work anymore

it leaves me.

empty
broken
terrified

it leaves me.

peel me back and let you in
this place is empty enough