hope. Sometimes the ship of life is pitching so viciously that the best action I can muster is to just sit down and hang on. The storm subsides. I stand up. I look around. I lean forward a little.
My chiropractor, Dr. Colleen McDonough, was helping me recover from a moment in which I had rapidly leaned backward. I'd stepped backward, while walking my dog, into a recessed planting area in the sidewalk. I snapped something in my back. My doctor was being attentive to the details of my life while working to correct the problem. “Now how's that writing going?” she asked. “That book you're working on—what's it called? Fall Forward into Life?”
I laughed so hard. The irony of my chiropractor getting the title of my book so wrong and yet so right, struck me as howlingly funny. When I stopped laughing I told her the correct title. She observed that I more frequently seem to leap forward into my life. A running leap, she modified. With your dog along on a leash. Leap. Lean. It's just one letter difference.
A pilot would tell you that a seemingly insignificant lean of a wing will dramatically alter the direction of the plane. Perhaps if a bird could speak it would share that, with the right wind, a little ruffle of a feather may change the way of its flight.
There are many reasons you lean forward on any given day. They are all perfect metaphors for this book. When you're trying to see something better, you lean toward it. When you are listening to someone and can barely hear, you lean in. When the really exciting part of a basketball game comes, you lean forward in your seat. When you're trying to catch, to see, to listen to the best bits—you lean forward.
Lean forward into your life . . . catch the best bits and the finest wind. Just tip your feathers in flight a wee bit and see how dramatically that small lean can change your life.
Begin Each Day As If It Were on Purpose
Go to the self-help section of the library. Or bookstore. There you will find protocols, guides, methods. Ten steps to this. Easy solutions to that. Thirty ways to hop, skip, and jump to a more successful, thinner, efficient, purposeful, happier life.
This is not that.
This book is an invitation. A reflection. A mirror. A set of prompts to help you remember the questions you want to ask yourself. An intimate portrait of some of my processes that have allowed me to separate life as it happens to me and life as I choose it. They are such very different things.
So often people discuss purpose as if it were a far off mountain, difficult to see and even more difficult to climb. Purpose is discussed as if it were the one thing that we are to ultimately achieve in our life.
Jan Johnson, my publisher, has said well that things are not only “done on purpose, but with a purpose.” I awaken with my purpose. I bring my purpose to every party. I have the choice of applying my purpose to every set of events and enthusiasms of my life. My purpose. The unique intention that only I bring.
You know that feeling of being completely energized, which occurs when you are doing something you absolutely love? That thing that might make others tired, weary, but you could do for hours, and then get up the next day and do it all over again? That thing probably has a lot to teach you about your purpose. When people speak of being “in sync,” when things are flowing or a part of a groove. What they could say, instead, is, “I am acting in complete accordance to my purpose and it makes everything sing.”
Life is the biggest schoolroom there is. Show up. Take notes. Notice the details so you gain mastery over the skills, talents, and abilities that all comprise your special purpose. Writing notes to yourself is one of the finest ways to come to a deeper understanding of your purpose. Here are some suggestions.
Write to make sense of life experiences. Write to learn as much as you can from all the challenges and the joys. Write because words and ideas are fascinating. Write because exploring concepts is play. Write to synthesize explorations and make them practical. Write to become the best version of yourself. Write to inspire, motivate, comfort, facilitate, discover, communicate. In the process of seeking empowerment, empower others. In this scratching, this making marks, encourage others to make their own mark. Write to discover everything you (already deeply) know about your purpose. It's waiting for you.
Uncovering Your Purposeful Beginnings
In the classes I teach, Writing Places and Wordshops, I often ask participants to write the story of their mythological creation. Nearly every tribe and civilization that we can name has their own set of creation myths. It explains their unique presence. The terrain. The history of the tribe. Creating your own personal myth is a remarkable journey. It's digging into your purpose. Let me share my own creation myth.
“Entirely too hot!”
“Entirely too high!”
“By all our heads I swear this will turn sunset to a crisp.”
“Stop your murmuring and just complete your tasks!” Umbria chastised the rising criticizers.
“You don't think this fire is large enough already?”
“You know size is irrelevant; it's the density of the burn we always look for. Don't be stingy. I know you've not poured yours in yet.”
Vitae was embarrassed at being caught. She retreated to the wavy edges of the fire. Appropriately corrected, she humbly reached into her boodle bag and pulled the bottled essence for which she was named. As a single drop entered the fire the core flame leapt higher than Vitae's tall head.
“Only one drop?” Umbria asked.
Shamed, again, this time by her lack of generosity, Vitae poured lavishly—and stepped quickly back from the rising heat. Years later this extra portion of vitality (for which Vitae could take credit) would sustain the breath of this fiery spirit.
Umbria kept her invitations flowing. She calculated on her fingers, “All right, yes! Compassion, Intention, Chaos, Camaraderie, Intimacy, Loyalty, Vision . . . and had Creativity come?” Oh, yes. Of course. She came in that silly disguise of hers that many mistake for discipline. Now . . . oh, yes!
She called out, “Calculation! Prosperity, Strength, and Well-being! Come on. It's nearly time.”
While it was somewhat unorthodox, the latecomers all came and piled their offerings in the keeping of Strength—the intensity of the heat had become too much for the rest of them.
“Are we done yet?” Calculation inquired.
“Almost,” she impatiently assured. “Would somebody call for Attentiveness and Gentleness? I need them to add something.”
Umbria was still deciding what from her bag to bestow—balance or insight. It seemed silly to contribute balance into a fire of this magnitude. The flames were licking the sun and the clouds had begun to complain bitterly. Clearly the only choice they had was to begin a deluge—which tempered the flames slightly. Thereafter this spirit would love all water, especially walking in the rain.
As Gentleness, at some personal peril, added her silken threads, she heard, “Isn't it time yet?” in choired unison.
Umbria gasped at the error of her own long consideration. She knew such an overdue pause would forever compel the belly in which this fire burned to be late. Such things
