Don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go do that. Because what the world needs are people who have come alive. – Harold Whitman
Stacked. Things are stacking up. It’s back to the real world where there is work and study and then for me the trick of managing that with new found abilities to take care of me. I wasn’t really planning on going back to work just yet, I thought I had time to answer some questions I hadn’t quite formed about how I would juggle things with effortlessness. But the opportunities are arising and I have things I want to do, places I want to be, a here and now and a future to find my way into.
I can juggle these things, and no it will not be effortless, there will be unguarded moments where it will not matter and tripping up where it might matter, but I like a challenge. In fact, it’s good maybe that it’s happening without me having planned too much – I’ll go with muscle memory and trust rather than anxiety and over analysis. I’ll go with a knowing that I am not perfect but I’m perfectly capable (well perfectly capable of learning and working it out and failing and improving!). I’ll do some planning and then each day I’ll try and be in the moment, grateful for it, making the most of it.
And there’s great momentum too. If I ask myself “how is life now?” I can have the joy of looking into the stream, at my reflection, at all that’s sweeping along and carrying me with it. The momentum is accumulating. It’s time to stride out after a sojourn in a quieter place, a quieter me coming loudly alive again.
And I go with a lightness. A lighter heart, a lighter body, a lot less stuff. There’s room in my draws for storing new things. And it’s easier to find what I’ve held on to. At any time I can open a draw, from my thigh, in my forehead, behind my tattoo, beneath my nails. And stored in there are moments.
The moments I’m cataloguing using a binary system – events and emotions. The draws are held in place by desire lines that cut across my body, all connecting and criss-crossing and creating my own sensical path, outside the current design of your standard chest of draws. There are draw liners made out of maps of routes I’ve travelled and hope yet to see, or made from recycled letters and cards from pregnancies, birthdays, deaths and no special occasions. There are handles on the draws that have been crafted by my experiences. Some that are familiar and well worn with the imprints of my hands, and some that are quicksilver and unknowable. Some are still being sculpted. I like that.
The dark spaces are not so deep now, there’s a light inside. There’s a lot of fun stuff in the draws. The elements of me. Some are organs, like my heart fluttering away, sending a hum through the structure. There are elements of me that are like puzzles, pictures with potential. Some are like scrabble and can be played out for meaning. Some are the treasures of a life lived so far. And some of those draws are flinging open, with accumulated momentum, in harmony with the song of my spirit perhaps, as new elements are formed and found.
These draws are catching new moments, the ones that take your breath away, the ones that define difference, the ones that specialise in cushioning the unexpected so you can take it out again and again to hold it and marvel. And this moment is enough because there is just so much in it! And it is everything that came before it, not clamouring, but stopped in its tracks, watching along with me. I don’t think there is another moment of greater happiness, because this one is only in this moment. Future moments may be great when their turn comes.
And old moments serve to tell. On the weekend I spent time with a lot of wonderful women. I listened to my friends telling birthing stories and parenting tales. So many moments, harrowing, wonderful, defining. In every story there was to be found the beauty of these children, the gifts that they are and have been, even if they are no longer with us. Moments with momentum that have propelled a story, a family a community.
There’s momentum building too in the Building Bridges community associated with the 10 City Bridge Run. People are being asked to make an individual act of decision that can lead to moments with momentum for children, families and communities in our global neighbourhood. Matt made an individual act of decision – actually he would have to have made many over his epic journey, a journey defined by an incredible amount of moments of challenge, of serendipity, of engagement, of resolve and heroism.
“Who are you doing this for?” This is perhaps the most frequently asked question of me as I set about the epic journey which I had called the 10 City Bridge Run. I ran 10 sub-marathons each of 24 km in 10 cities across 10 countries. I wasn’t doing it for myself, and I wasn’t doing it for an organisation. Truth be told, I was doing it for the many millions of children born and unborn, along with their parents and communities to give them hope and the enjoyment of a good start to life by combating child mortality. Audaciously, I proposed that through this crazy stunt that we could open a conversation to improve the delivery of child survival.
You’re invited to join the conversation, be a part of this collaboration, to be in the moments that will see people contributing what it is they can. It is together that we unite moments for greater meaning and outcomes.
The individual act of decision. Read more here and think about this:
Can we really give ourselves permission to tinker a little as individuals collaborating together so as to put a dent in the universe?
The thing is, I believe that if we follow our bliss, with courage and light, we will find moments that allow us to contribute. You don’t need special skills or resources to open the draw and find something to put forward in collection with others. The moment you contribute will be enough.