The hourglass stared at her, a primordial thing pulsing with the life the railroad companies infused into it all those years ago. (“It’s alive!”)
The sand glowed with a blackish-purple hue, and she sighed knowing that it was finite, this glass marked Tomorrow. Every grain of sand promised productivity in her mind, and she went about her day dividing the sand with her thoughts and her calendar.
The sand had not yet begun to fall, but each day she planned she noticed the hourglass (dayglass?) seemed to contain less and less of her precious granules. Was she imagining this? [click to continue…]
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“Everybody wants to tell their story of origin, whether it’s a nation, a people, even a couple.”
The words rang in my head as I lay in bed, trying to sleep. A group of friends and I had a pretty heavy conversation over brunch earlier, and I played it back now, in this quiet moment.
Candlelight streamed up through my lamp shade, a doughnut shadow puppet on the ceiling. What is my story? I wondered. Then stopped.
I knew — told it a million times. Inspiring and sometimes unbelievable yes, but I couldn’t help but think if continuing to tell it, even to myself, keeps me stuck.
Like an anchor, no matter how far I am, I can only paddle so far away from it. And my big dreams, my aspirations, are a long way from my beginnings.
[click to continue…]
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by Rebecca A. Watson on February 19, 2015
in Art, writing
This was sent to me by one of my friends. It touched me much more than I expected. I hope you too find some truth in it.
Life is demanding and you have succeeded in meeting all those demands. You have persisted through every challenge and you can do it again.
In fact, you’ve become skilled at working your way forward.
Today is another great opportunity to put your skills to work.
[click to continue…]
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