“Weeping may linger for the night,
but joy comes with the morning.”
A few of the things that have never failed to bring me joy are:
~ groups of noisy chirping birds that I can’t find
~ being a back up alto for James Taylor
~ staring at old photos
~ reaching the end of a good novel
~ waking up before anyone else
I like to write.
And now, I like to make friends with other writers. Many of them are being nice right back to me.
Your best writing reflects your genuine heart.
That hasn’t been my experience with all artists, and I am lucky enough to have friends of each variety: actors, musicians, potters, photographers, dancers…
I’m sure that after some thought I would figure out that one type of artist isn’t more generous than the next. People are just who they are when it really comes down to it all.
But, I’m starting to wonder if part of the reason I am really starting to enjoy writing is that it is like theater. Unless it’s a grocery list, there needs to be an audience for most writing worth the work. So, having the confidence to either ask or give feedback is not that different from having the confidence to hit the stage and find out that the audience either loves or doesn’t love the performance.
With that thought, I’m now remembering how during those theater days of my childhood until early adulthood, experiencing joy was as easy as saying yes to my sons when they ask to play in the rain.
What did I have to lose after all of those hours of rehearsal? Not much. Most things were fun, exactly for the sake of being fun.
Joy doesn’t always come easily.
I guess that is what I’m trying to say. Life is full of complex and tough stuff.
Some days and life stages can seem like a sad night that will never, ever end.
And other times, can be as light as the photo of my friends who found a water fountain amidst the heat wave last week.
These are my thoughts this morning, and guess what? The sun is up, the birds are making a racket outside, and (shh), I have a few more minutes to myself.