I’m reading a book called “Wordsmithy: Hot Tips for the Writing Life” by Douglas Wilson. My daughter gave it to me for my birthday.  It’s funny, inspiring, and short enough to read in a few hours.

In one sitting, I read all the way to section six, which advises:

“Live an actual life out there, a full life, the kind that will generate a surplus of stories.”

So it got me thinking:

Am I living a full, actual life?

Or, do I lose sight of purpose between shuffling laundry loads and racing to town to grab groceries and the discount latte of the day?

(These duties are needful, of course.  Especially the latte.)

I grudgingly left my book and walked out to the garden.

This reassured me that I must be living a real life– a busy life that keeps me from tending weeds and overripe cucumbers wasting away under dry, tangled vines.

And just then —  with one foot, I stepped on a thistle, while my other foot stepped on a bee, who had been sucking on the clover that grew from an unmowed lawn.

Suddenly, I felt fully alive.

© Lisa M. Luciano

Photo credits:

Laundry — Nik MacMillan

Cucumbers —Markus Spiske

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