There is the immense possibility of it all.
That is, I suppose, what makes new beginnings so wildly compelling.
So absolutely irresistible.
And then there is the attention we bring to the things, our aim narrowly focused on the act of manifesting something valuable and life affirming on our own clean slate–one barely wiped free of last year’s grime.
Just yesterday–the first Sunday of this new year–I opened to the first page of a beautiful new journal, one sent to me by my sister-in-law, Colette. It was many years ago; she brought the book home with her from Florence, Italy, her thoughtful note suggesting I might fill it with “lots of great stories.” Instead I tucked it away in my library for safekeeping, my saver’s heart insisting I hold out, insisting I wait–as if expecting some grand inspiration worthy of such a magnificent volume.
For years the book has rested there, patient. Empty. Silent.
I have found it to be true that when you noodle around with an idea, when you toss around a thought but don’t do anything to give it actual shape, or form, it will fade–even if your noodling keeps it alive (but barely breathing) for many years. But the moment you write it down it becomes something else entirely, an intention, a force in the universe. Not only that, but the universe will rearrange to accommodate it, to support you, to give mass and momentum to your little creation.
And so I spent a good part of the day Sunday sifting through the things that float around in my head, the hundreds of maybes and what-ifs and I shoulds, many of them new and shiny, others tired and thin but still hanging on. I gave each of them equal weight as I considered their place in my life today. What matters now? I asked. It was a question that came as if I have moved beyond something, toward something, into something new as I wade deeper into my 57th year. And then for the first time ever I also considered: What good intentions can I bless and release?
I pulled the elegant Florence journal from the bookshelf and opened it to Page One. I began to write. 2016 Life List is what came first. Then I captured 10 thoughts into which I could put my heart.
Some of these are easy:
4. Schedule exercise.
Some require a bit more effort:
10. See the best in people.
Then just as I finished the list something came to me, divine direction that formed of its own, a whisper from God, an addendum.
Live in the space of joy, it said.
I grabbed it, wrote it down, gave it form.
#11. Live in the space of joy.
It is the perfect #11 for my 2016 List of Ten, don’t you think? This sweet thought that has come and wrapped itself all around, reminding me joy is a choice to be made.
It’s going to be a very good year, I believe. A very good year, indeed.
I’d love to send you a notice when there’s a new post on The Daily Grace!
I’m adding that to my list!
You never fail to amaze me! Your insight is such a blessing.
(You are in my joyful space, that I know.)
So glad. Thanks, friend.
Thanks for letting me know, dear friend!
My dear Cathy,
Mom lived by #10 and 11. She said hundreds of times, “There is no utopia…you have to make your mind up to be happy.” Never heard her reference #4.
Much love to you and T and E.
Ha! to #4! Your Mom also reminded me that life is “daily.” Still love her for that. Thanks sweet cousin!