Sunday Night reflections

The Artist's Way
Week 9
Because of the extra week that I took, we will actually end our journey on Easter Sunday. Rather fitting I think.
So how was your week? Were there any new insights? This week was about finding compassion for who we are and what we have not done as well as learning why.
I may have shared this story with you, so forgive me if I am repeating myself. I have always loved to write. Even as a very small child, I loved to create stories. I always dreaded dinner time because I knew there would be a fight over the fact that I did not want to eat my meal. And without fail, I would spend a good portion of the evening sitting in the corner. What my parents didn't understand was that I didn't mind sitting in the corner. It was my little space where I sat in my little chair where I was alone to dream and create. I would create wonderful stories of other children who had great adventures. By the time I was nine, I decided to write a book. I would arrive at school early each morning. My favorite days were rainy days because they would allow us to come in and sit in the gym and work on our homework. I always did my homework the night before so this was my chance to write. What I wouldn't give to read some of those pages that I wrote so long ago. This week while I was working on my morning pages, the memory of writing "my book" came back to me. Then I suddenly remembered a diary that I kept when I was thirteen. The book had a vinyl cover, it was blue. On the front of the book there was a girl wearing pedal pushers and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. Although this was 1972, the book was straight out of the 1950's. I never hid the book. I kept it on my desk in my room. One day I came home and found that it had been read. I felt so violated. As I look back at what was written, nothing was very earth shaking. I wrote about a boy that I liked, he was a real cowboy from Wyoming. A true cowboy, from his sauntering walk to the faded ring on the back pocket of his jeans where he kept his can of chewing tobacco (it was a different time when even teenagers carried chewing tobacco). That was when I stopped writing. My words, my thoughts were no longer safe unless I kept them all to myself. It wasn't until I took the Artist's Way class the first time that I really began to write once more.
As I went on to write my morning pages this week, I thought more about that little nine year old girl and how much she loved to write her stories and I thought of the thirteen year old girl who suddenly felt her words had to be protected. I thought of how at nine and even thirteen, writing was a fun thing to do, something I looked forward to. It was like play. Could I feel that way again? As it turns out, yes. I gave myself permission to come upstairs after dinner to my favorite room in our home, my husband's office, and write. I felt a dam break, I felt excited about writing for the first time in more years than I would like to think about. The rest of the day can be spent doing all the things I must do, but for a little while each evening, I have given myself permission to reconnect with an old friend. 
The chapter we have just finished also talks about creative u-turns. Will I take one? Maybe. There's a piece of wisdom in the margin of this chapter that says, "Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." I would rather experience the gifts that are waiting for me by allowing my words to be free, than to hold them back and keep them all to myself. Is there something in your life that you need to set free?
We move on to chapter ten.  We'll see that as we begin to see our real potential and all the possibilities that are available to us, we reach for blocks to slow our growth. At the root of all blocks is fear.
From my past experience, this is a week where morning pages become difficult. Do them anyway. You will see that there will be a great pay off for your perseverance.
Have a wonderful week.
Thank you for coming by to check in with me.