Hello, my dear Musers
It’s so lovely to have you here. I’m writing this late in the day as my day escaped me, possibly with the wind that howled through Melbourne today. The wind brought with it a dose of thick hayfever and a migraine so forgive me for any grammar and spelling issues in here. I was not going to push this issue out, but it is scheduled for today and I love to keep to my promises so here it is.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to get in the way of ourselves so that we don’t do the things that we love. I’ve been having a bunch of conversations with people lately who are struggling to attend to the thing that makes them sing (or dance, write, create). They throw a bunch of things (metaphorical or literal) in the way that create a sense of paralysis, inertia or overwhelm.
What about if they allowed themselves to just do the one thing that really makes them happy, the one thing that makes them feel alive?
'“Some people live ninety years, some people live one year ninety times.” - Mary Morrissey
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