In my particular life, the days behind me have accumulated into a larger pile than future days will be—even in a best case scenario. I look back at those days, moments piled around my feet, and ask myself: what am I cultivating?  What is the body of work I will leave behind?

Another body.  The body I inhabit will leave, one day.  I try to give it only as much (enough) attention to serve me well, as long as possible. No more.  I see my body as a vessel.  The form or shape of me.

Body of work is the point of me.  What I create, share, offer the world, leave behind.

Body of work sounds egotistical for a moment. Until the winds of grace and miracle blow over it—and they do.  Humble. Ready.  Showing up, lighting a candle, welcoming a story or an idea and filling a notebook.

These stories and ideas are also piling around my feet.

I bow in gratitude.