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.
