Get back to work, Buttercup: a”Suddenly Stardust” reminder for myself

“Suddenly Stardust: A Memoir (of sorts) About Fear, Freedom & Improv”, in progress, 2018

This morning, a memory popped up on Facebook reminding me that three years ago today I was almost done writing what would become “Suddenly Stardust: A Memoir (of sorts) About Fear, Freedom & Improv”. At the time, the book had no name and was a pile of loosely connected thoughts and ideas, but I was in the midst of the most creatively productive phase of my entire life and I knew in my soul that what I was writing would be transformative for both myself and anyone who needed to hear the message.

Three year later, and this book is not a best seller. It’s not a mildly mediocre seller. I don’t even promote it that often because I feel guilty taking money from people. But then I remember that my publisher needs to eat, too, and part of my job as an author is to not just write but also sell books.

I sold two copies “Suddenly Stardust” at an open house last week at Central Creatives CoWork of Art, where I recently moved into studio space. I wasn’t even talking about the book. I was just talking with people about pour painting and improv/writing classes I have coming up and the power of “Yes And” in all of them. People spotted the book themselves – or the book called them to itself as it sat all pretty on a display table. I don’t know how the magic of book sales works.

But it was a good feeling to know those books were going home with someone who might read the words and find courage to take a chance, to try something new, or at least see the world a little differently the next day.

Right now, I’m no longer in a creatively productive phase. In fact, I’m in a rut – physically, emotionally, mentally – which is especially frustrating since 1) my job is to help other people through their own creative ruts; 2) I have boatloads of resources at my fingertips so I have no excuses; and 3) at the new studio space I’m surrounded by wildly creative and incredibly supportive people.

I’ve been blaming this funk in on Mercury being in retrograde, and there’s some truth to that. But it’s also just been an exhausting, exhausting, exhausting 18 months and, while some wonderful things have definitely happened during lockdown, the struggle of trying to find the silver linings and keep moving forward while also being stuck in place is finally catching up. It would be easy to sit back and wallow in that.

Then I realize that sometimes I need to go back and read my own words, because when it comes down to it, I wrote them for myself as much as for the reader. And so my message to myself today?

“You’ve got business to attend to, Buttercup. The world is waiting.”

from “Suddenly Stardust: A Memoir (of sorts) About Fear, Freedom & Improv”

No one is asking me to move mountains. Just to put one foot in front of the other. Just to type a few words on a page. Just to open a bottle of paint and make a few brush strokes. I don’t need to know the next step or the end result or the why of anything. Just that if I’m not contributing my part – insignificant as it might seem to me – I may be holding someone else up, which holds someone else up, and on and on and on.

You can find “Suddenly Stardust” in ebook, paperback, and hardcover at your favorite online retailer. Or you can just click here: https://amzn.to/39zRZLs

If you’re interested in classes, workshops, and other events, or if you’re looking for a speaker for your next event, visit my website.

EXQUISITE COLLABORATION POEM: A Day In Our Room

12:59 pm. Building a kitchen, Dansville NY
(photo courtesy Mike Clemons)

Note: This collaborative work was created during National Poetry Month with participants across the US and around the world. At the end, you can see a list of the participants and information about the prompt.

A DAY IN OUR ROOM

A chilly, rainy spring morning
In my Springboro, Ohio, US kitchen
Shiny granite countertops, stained-glass back splash, a blooming white orchid, new leaves emerging from acres of trees, a sleepy ginger tabby tom
My bougie cat’s water fountain, the refrigerator humming, typing fingers click-clacking away in fits and starts, slow deep breaths
A chair warm from sitting too long, the lined texture from my mouse’s scroll wheel, the random whiskers on my chin
The kitchen hand soap’s lingering vanilla scent, freshly ground coffee beans
My cinnamon toothpaste

8a.m.
Bedroom, Rochester, NY
Cat, morning light, curtains, photos, memories
Purring, birds, quiet, hope
Fur, bedsheets, comfort
Candle, morning
Peace

9:30 a.m.
Rochester, NY, 2nd floor home “office”
“I Voted Today” sticker, jar of butterscotch candies, upstairs hallway, calculator, Wi-Fi thingie
Keys on my laptop, Pandora music stream, my breathing, scratchiness of unshaven face
Fingertips on fingertips (spider doing push-ups on a mirror), computer mouse, scissors
Soapy smell of hands, coffee – really, you too?
Triple berry yogurt

9:30 a.m.
Living room, sitting in my rocking chair, looking out the window
Snow, trees, yellow, pillows, hands
Birds, furnace, thoughts, breath
Mug, pen, heart
Heat, citrus
Coffee

9:32 a.m.
At my desk in an international school in Hong Kong
Smelly markers, green grass, masks, lipstick, my lunch
Vowel practice, playground chatter, air con humming, chair squeaks
Curly hair, a new wart, tangled phone cord
New Jo Malone, bleach
Lavender toothpaste

10:25 a.m.
My couch in Texas
Squirrel, creek, tree, sculpture, sky
Airplane, siren, traffic, voices
Laptop, blanket, mug
Fresh air, leftovers
Coffee

11:16 a.m.
My desk
Computer, lamp, mug, scissors, frame
Chirping, snoring, raindrops, train whistle
Paper, printer, phone
Lotion, lemon
Water

11:29 a.m.
My favorite chair in the family room, Vero Beach, Florida, US
Mug, sofa, cat, computer, bookcase
TV, traffic, air conditioner, husband talking
Keyboard, computer mouse, pencil
Remnants of breakfast, coffee
Aftertaste of peach yogurt

11:30 a.m. in the morning
Sitting at the table in my great room looking outside in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, PA
Birds, butterflies, books, bench, beauty all around me
Music, wind chimes, clock ticking, birds chirping
Mug, table, chair
Coffee, wet plant soil
Coffee

11:58 a.m.
East Rochester, NY, US
My sister, the television, three lamps, a dreary day outside, dog toys
Voices on a TV show, music from the same show, dogs outside talking to each other, birds chastising the squirrels in the food dishes
My iPad screen, my coffee mug, the remote
Coffee, air freshener
Coffee

Morning work hours
A safe place, USA
Roses in a vase, computer screen, credit card, reminder note, rain
Children bustling, husband’s work meeting, food wrapper, rain
Wood desk, smooth keys, cozy sweater
Dust (ha!), rain
Oatmeal

12:25 p.m.
On a couch in my daughter’s home in Lititz, PA, USA
Folded laundry, three lime green pillows, a bag of Reese’s pieces, a pencil with a cow topper, a charging cord
The fire siren, an amber alert on my phone, a ticking clock, clicking of laptop keys
A TV tray, my laptop, my coffee mug
Rotting lilies in a nearby vase, a watermelon candle
My morning coffee

12:55 p.m.
Rochester, NY, USA, my bedroom office
Computer monitor, window, printer, wall, calculator
Rain, computer fan, grandkid singing, cars on wet road
Chair, desk, keyboard
Cat box, the shoes I just took off
Left over pieces of lunch in my teeth

2:00 p.m.
Home office space, in a comfy office chair, green screen behind me, in Bangor, Maine, USA
Zoom screen, cup of coffee, water bottle, cell phone, cat
Zoom meeting, keyboard, can of air, cat
Cat, keyboard, cushion
Coffee, litter box
Coffee

2:45 p.m.
Sitting in my home office
Coffee, cat, dinosaur, cape, sword
Fan, chewing, computer humming, rattling
Lunch, keyboard, phone
Smoke, litterbox
Pineapple

3:10 p.m.
Rochester, NY
Cup, wallet, books, boxes, stars
Car horns, rock music, water dripping, bees buzzing
Alabaster, apples, records
Barbecue, cough medicine
Chocolate

3:43 p.m.
Computer room chair
Daffodils, tulips, bunnies, chicks, dogs
Birds, trains, church bells, rain,
Fur, dirt, skin
Grilling, grass
Mint

3:57 p.m.
My dad’s recliner
Acorn TV, old chairs, a journal, a flat box, an old microwave
Thoughtful dialogue, telemarketing spam, flutes, mom’s remarks
Phone screen, denim jeans, Bic pen
Dad’s recliner, clementines
Pizza

4:36 p.m.
Maine, USA
Citrine, beads, dragon, mug, box
Whirring, creaking, breathing, clunk
Blanket, pillow, mattress
Garlic, yeast
Pumpkin

5:50 p.m.
My Office Chair, Georgia, US
Paper, computer, mug, deck of cards, stapler,
Hum of the computer fan, clicking of the keyboard, my own pulse, notifications
The letters on my keyboard, the linen of my shirt, the plaque on my teeth
Leftover lunch, stale coffee
Fermenting sugar

6:00 p.m.
A Dining Room in Western NY
Chinese Checkers board, Thimk board, Parcheesi board, Chess board, Scrabble board
Neighbor’s ATV, the Thruway, clock ticking, footsteps
Laptop keys, notebook, placemat
Hand soap, coffee
Werthers

8:15 p.m.
My kitchen, Chelsea, Michigan, United States
Houseplants, ceramic piggies, stove, bananas, plates
Pages flipping, refrigerator humming, dog whining, husband talking
Measuring cup, spatula, oven timer
Bacon, peanut butter
Syrup

10:45 p.m.
In bed in Rochester New York
Philip Glass reminds me
The hours that pass by blindly
While it snows in April
I am lost in thought through mines
From borrowed ideas recycled like the cans on these pages

12:30 a.m.
Bedtime in an American suburb
Two black cats, one yellow dog, my 4-year-old daughter, a wall full of art
White noise, crunching, a snoring cat, my own heartbeat
Fur, a warm cheek, a cool window
Vegan cheddar puffs, damp sphagnum moss
Cinnamon

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE POETS
(in no particular order)

Exquisite Collaboration Poem: WILLIAM IS A CAT

William, a self portrait

WILLIAM IS  CAT

William is a cat.
A companion to his humans, the mayor of his neighborhood, the center of his own universe.

William is a cat who hides his scat.
He’s not sharing and that’s that.

His tiny turds of kitty poo-poo, all speckled with litter,
Dropped into baggies. Hip hip hooray!

William the cat keeps to himself most of the time,
but his heart is big, he cares deeply, and is a true friend.

The son of Prince William
He’s a gentle fellow, soft as a marshmallow.

William is a very intelligent cat
He knows that while the birds are off limits the mice aren’t.

William is happening and all knowing, just as a cat should be.
Any further input would be redundant and superfluous.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE POETS
Zeina
Al
Anonymous
Joanne
Daniela Gitlin
Crystal Hayduk
Mickey Cherry

(William’s portrait provided by Zeina Salame)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE POEM
Earlier this year,  I took an Impro for Collaborating class with Theresa Robbins Dudeck through the Artists Repertory Theater in Portland, OR.  One of the participants, Diane, talked occasionally about William. Most of us just assumed William was her partner, until one day she talked about William using his litter box. “William is a cat?” someone asked, and we all had a good laugh about it – and then met William, the cat, via Zoom.

What better way to capture the moment of collective, spontaneous delight than with a collaborative poem! The prompt, of course was “William is a cat”. Contributors could include the phrase if they wanted it wasn’t required. And just for fun, I asked a few non-classmates to add a verse.

This is for you, Diane! xo

A Whispered Agitation (flash fiction)

photo in public domain*

Last fall I entered the NYC Midnight Microflash Fiction contest. In January, I made it through the first round, and last night I learned that I’ve made it through to the next round! Here’s the story that moved me to the finals. At the end is some of the judge’s feedback.

Assigned genre: Historical Fiction
Action that had to be included: bricklaying
Word that had to be included: step
Time to write the 250 word story: 24 hours

A WHISPERED AGITATION
by Joanne Brokaw

Martin filled his trowel with cement, slopped the mortar onto the growing barrier, and topped it with a brick. “You’ll not see that neighbor again, Emily.” More slop. “She’s an agitator.” Another brick.

Emily knew enough to remain silent when her husband was mid-tirade. His word was law, by God, and she best not forget it. But while her lips were quiet, her spirit was not.

Days earlier, that neighbor, Clara, had returned from visiting cousins in Auburn and whispered to Emily rumors of a coming women’s rights movement.

“Can you imagine?” Clara marveled. “To have the vote?”

“That’s preposterous. Surely you’re mistaken. ”

“No, Emily, there’s to be a convention next week. We will be heard.”

For days, dreams of equality girded Emily with confidence. She sewed a new dress; Martin accused her of putting on airs. Her request to see the household ledger was met with icy silence. But it was her utterance of the word “suffrage” that prompted Martin to build the wall.

“You think we don’t know what our wives are up to behind our backs?”

Slop. Brick.

Emily spied Clara on her porch, her black eye and swollen lip visible even at a distance. Clara quickly turned away.

Slop. Brick.

Emily decided. With Martin distracted, she slipped away, donning her bonnet as she walked determinedly to the train station. She stepped up to the ticket counter and pushed a few pilfered coins towards the agent. “One fare to Seneca Falls, please.”

**************************

The judges had some nice thing to say about the piece and gave specific, really helpful suggestions. Here’s what they had to say:

Exquisite Collaboration Poem: Our Hope For The New Year

Earth sunrise greets astronauts aboard the International Space Station; taken Apr. 8, 2015. Courtesy NASA free images.

a note on the final poem of 2020:

For this final exquisite collaboration project of 2020, almost 40 people from around the world contributed one sentence expressing a hope for the new year. These sentences were then sorted to create the following poem that, despite everyone contributing independently of each other, echoed common themes of peace, health, and the desperate desire to hug again.

I want to thank everyone who participated in these poems this year. Facilitating these gave me a creative purpose during the pandemic lockdown and put into action what has been my writing motto for more than 20 years:

Connect. Inspire. Change the world.

May your 2021 overflow with all things beautiful, and may we have many more opportunities to create magic together.
xo
Joanne

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

our collective hope for the new year

Musings on the pause, reopening, and the children

From NYS Governor Andrew Cuomo’s daily press conference, May 5, 2020.

Let’s get one thing clear, right off the bat: I’m not a scientist, or a doctor, or a politician, or anything even resembling a smarty pants. I’m a writer, artist, and performer who tries to help people push past fear to embrace their creativity. In the grand scheme of the universe, I’m just a dreamer with a pen and a paintbrush who wants us all to get along.

So keep that in mind as you continue reading – and if you can’t, if you’re already preparing to debate anything related to the current pandemic, it’s OK to  stop reading right now and go find something else to do.

Still with me? OK,  here goes.

Exquisite Quarantine Poem: WINGS

“Give and Take”, by fine art and portrait photographer Tonya Wilhelm. This image is part of her Couch Project Series. Used with permission.

WINGS

I don’t know how it happened today.
My feet came off the track!
I was minding my own business.
What are these feathers on my back?

With labored effort, but growing strength
I steel to flex my curious appendages
Slow, stiff, I rise
Past life, loves, and sins now long gone vestiges

What will be there for us to come back to?
What awaits us on the other sides of our walls?
Will the divisive ones remain strong in their ways,
To crumble down the peaceful bridges, once and for all?

To careen and crash across interstates
Careless and proud, angry and a fool
Courting concussions from blunt truth
With abandon and a trickle of drool

If flavor’s your wheelhouse and cravings abound,
Just do what the old canines do,
And salivate so unabashedly, dude,
Like zebras who live in the zoo.

*     *     *     *     *     *

THE POEM
The first person was given the prompt WINGS as inspiration, and instructed to write four lines, with the 2nd and 4th lines rhyming. The other contributors added the same and got to see only the last line of what the previous writer penned.

 THE POETS
– Alyssa is from Twin Cities, MN
– Jenean Roth is a lover of words read, written, spoken, dreamt, and arranged in entertaining ways.
– Justin Rielly is a playwright, theater artist and radio host based in Rochester, New York.
– Ty Gagnon is an improvisor, cook, writer, weirdo.
– Debbie Miller is a Brooklyn, New York writer who writes magazine articles, plays, humor, and monologues.Visit her website at www.DebbieLMiller.com.

THE PHOTOGRAPHER
“Give and Take”. Tonya Wilhelm is a fine art and portrait photographer. This image is part of her Couch Project Series. See them all on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tonyawilhelm.artist/

Click here to learn how you can take part in the Exquisite Quarantine Poem project.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Exquisite Quarantine Poem: DAWN

 

Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

The first poem in our Exquisite Quarantine series was written in February, just before life came to a screeching halt. It was part of an exercise I did with a group at my monthly creativity workshop.

The instructions for everyone were to write four lines based only on the last line of the person who went before them; I wrote the first line. No rhyme or other structure was required. The first names of the participants are listed at the end of the poem.

Here’s how you can take part in the Exquisite Quarantine Poem project.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

DAWN

Over the hills, the sun appears
Orange delight, aglow with life
Heralding the hope of a fresh start
A new dawn breaks.

And I see it all again
I look forward to night again
It hides all the ugly.

The mask can’t hide it all, though
Some starts to seep out like a
bit of silly putty in a mold and
looks a bit sick.

Love is an affliction!
But best not an addition
I’m not likely to fall again
Said the little red hen.

Life is running away from me,
I cannot reel it in.
What can the future hold,
Oh dear wren?

Wren, oh wren, sweet, sweet wren.
She had a bird-like figure
which explains the name her parents c hose.
But why didn’t they choose Robin? We’ll never know.

All we can do is move on, and look to tomorrow
The night will end when the dawn breaks
The light will shine and the fields sparkle
Morning always brings hope of a better day.

Except Monday mornings
Everybody hates those
When you woke up mourning
Wanting your alarm to enclose.

These people are so quiet
I think they are planning to kill me
There are enough of them
I think they could do it.

Absolute action will lead to satisfaction
Something so simple will never cripple
Calming airs and perfect pairs
Affairs that never cease.

THE POETS
April, Aprille, Chloe, Ian, Jeff, Peg, Curtis, Laura, and Jennifer

 

Welcome to The Funny Farm

Greetings, wonderful reader, and welcome to my blog. Or as I like to think of it, my big laundry pile of words.

Regular readers know that I’m technologically inept even on a good day. During The Pandemic Pause, I’ve been slowly updating the blog and trying to make sense of more than a decade of posts – most of which have confusing categories, no tags, and even no titles. It’s like trying to sort socks and finding a spacesuit in the basket. Where did that come from and where does it go?

While there’s still much to sort, I’ve separated some popular posts by topic, which you can access via the menu. To keep reading posts in chronological order, just keep scrolling. The most recent posts will show up at the top.

Stay healthy, take care of yourself, and take care of each other!
xo
Joanne

Join me for an Exquisite Quarantine Poem Project

photo courtesy of pixabay

Here in NYS, The Pause is extended for several more weeks. Boring! If you’re itching to try something new, join me as we create an  Exquisite Quarantine Poem.

This project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work one bit at a time, with no one seeing what the previous participants contributed. I’ve done this in my in-person creative workshops and I thought it would be a great way to spur some creative thinking and connect with others during this weird time of isolation.

Here’s how our Exquisite Poem will work:

Five Minutes From The Funny Farm: Sunshine, Birdsong And A New Day

It’s a new day! On today’s episode, let’s go outside, where winter has left its mark but spring is peeking through the debris.

 

This is what happens when you lock a humor writer/improvisor who doesn’t know how to use a video camera in the house with two dogs and a cat during a pandemic. I warned you it wasn’t going to be pretty. Or professional.

Visit my website http://www.joannebrokaw.com
Follow me on FB @joannebrokawwriter
Check out my latest book, “Suddenly Stardust: A Memoir (of sorts) About Fear, Freedom & Improv” wherever books are sold. Available in print and ebook editions.

Five Minutes from the Funny Farm: Working from home

Because of the Covid-19 virus and the need to help flatten the curve, maybe you’ve been forced to work-at-home. Congratulations! You’re joining millions of people who’ve been working at home for decades.

Maybe there was a time when, because you worked a “real job”, you called a friend or family member who worked at home and said, “Little Jimmy has a fever and they won’t let him come to daycare. You’re home all day. Can I send him to your house?” or “The furnace repairman is coming between 9 and and 5 pm. Can you go to my house and let him in? You can even hang out there all day. I have HBO.”

Admit it. You’ve always envisioned us sitting around all day in our pajamas, watching Netflix and eating Cheese Doodles.

Well, haha. Jokes on you. Only two of those things are true.

But hey, we work from home folks are nothing if not compassionate, and we’re happy to welcome you to the club! Here are some tips to help you acclimate to your new lifestyle.

Five Minutes from the Funny Farm: Gnats, Toilet Paper, and Gray Hair

In today’s episode of Five Minutes from the Funny Farm, I relate the story of the gnat that flew up my nose, introduce my experiment to see how long one roll of toilet paper actually lasts, and bitch a little bit more about my gray hair.

 

This is what happens when you lock a humor writer/improvisor who doesn’t know how to use a video camera in the house with two dogs and a cat during a pandemic. I warned you it wasn’t going to be pretty. Or professional.

Visit my website www.joannebrokaw.com
Follow me on FB @joannebrokawwriter
See all of my videos on my YouTube channel
Check out my latest book, “Suddenly Stardust: A Memoir (of sorts) About Fear, Freedom & Improv” wherever books are sold. Available in print and ebook editions.

A dream of two lions, a tiger, and a visit from the muses

Image by Marcel Langthim from Pixabay

Last night, I dreamed that I was … well, I’m not sure where I was but it was a room in a house I didn’t recognize. There was a door from the back of the house into this room and a door in this room that went out the front of the house. There were people in the room, no one I can specifically recognize, but I seem to remember a maroon couch that I was either standing on or near.

And at one point in this otherwise nondescript dream, a tiger walked in through the back door, silently and in no particular hurry, and walked past me as he made his way through the room and out the front door.  I felt his fur gently brush my skin and felt warmth radiating from his body.

I stood frozen in place as he passed, and when he was gone I said out loud, “A TIGER just walked through the room. Did anyone else see that?” Some people nodded like it was nothing exciting. Some people hadn’t even seen it. For everyone else, it was a non-event.

A bit later – because it’s a dream and I don’t remember what else was happening or how long it took – two lions came into the room. Except they didn’t just walk through. The first one came right up to me, sniffing me the way a dog might sniff a visitor to your house, and then settled herself near my feet as the other lion padded over and also gave me a once over. And then he started licking me. My feet, my legs, my hands. He gnawed softly on my shin and gently, but with intention, butted my side with his enormous head.

As with the tiger, I could feel their fur, could feel the heat from both of the beasts and smell the faint odor of animal, and I was frozen in place by their sheer power as it pressed against the air in the room.

These lions were not necessarily friends. It was clear to me, if not to anyone else, that they were dangerous predators there to investigate me and, if I was found wanting, would have gladly devoured me in a heartbeat.

This time, everyone else in the room was as frozen as I was because, apparently, two lions hanging out are more interesting than one tiger just passing through.

After what felt like an eternity in dream time, the lions both stood, looked me in the eye, and then sauntered out through the front door like the royalty of the jungle that they are.

As they disappeared over the threshold, someone in the room whispered, “That was a fucking LION.”

“No,” I replied aloud. “That was TWO fucking lions.”

And then I woke up.

* * * * *

Letting go of the known and soaring into the unknown

Photo courtesy Pixabay https://pixabay.com/photos/landscape-yorkshire-malham-2710592/

A message to a friend struggling with a major life change:

Sometimes, when we embrace who we really are – whatever that means – it sets us off on a completely different path than we or anyone we know ever imagined we would embark on.

And because new things are scary, even when we think we’re putting our feet forward, in reality our hands are firmly gripped to the walls of our past, and we content ourselves with hanging perilously to the Cliffs of the Known rather than venturing into new territory.

Even when it’s painful. Even when it’s exhausting. Even when it’s robbing us of the sustenance we need to survive.

Because clinging to the known feels safer than letting go and facing the vast, scary unknown.

What if we fall?

But what if we don’t?

Sometimes, the only way we will let go of the past and see what’s truly meant for our future is if someone stomps on our battered, bloodies hands as they struggle to grasp the rocks crumbling under our fingertips and forces us to let go.

And in that split second, when letting go of the shards of rock seems like madness but we have no choice, and we’re angry that someone has abandoned us and betrayed us, and we see our fingers release and feel the split second of weightlessness before the anticipated plummet, we surprise ourselves by the realization that we’re not falling at all.

In fact, we’re floating.

And while it’s hard to get used to our wings, because we’ve never unfurled them before, and it’s scary to look down, because we don’t knows what perils await us, very soon we realize we’re not just floating, but soaring.

And then we’re seeing the world from new heights and new perspectives. And the landscape we imagined as dangerous is actually lush and green and filled with fresh waterfalls and crystal seas and beautiful things we never saw when our faces were smashed against our past.

Never forget that you have been created for wonderful things, and you are an important link in a chain of small interactions and experiences that make the world go round.

Following your heart and embracing all you are means that everyone benefits.

Depriving yourself of all you are means we all suffer with you.

Sometimes the only way to let go is to have someone rip your fingers from the ledge of who you were and shove you into the sky of who you are meant to be.

Letting go hurts in the moment, and sometimes we leave a limb behind because our grasp is so tight.

But when it’s time to let go, let go.

We all need you to keep moving forward.

We all need you.