Today, while meeting a new Facebook friend and sister wordsmith, Trish Sammer Johnston, we were talking about all of the seeds we have planted in our lives in order to reap the harvest we are enjoying now.  We were sipping ups of tea at my favorite ‘office away from home,’ which is someplace every writer should have, by the way. This one is called The Zen Den and I think of it as our local non-alcoholic version of Cheers, the place where everyone knows your name and I always run into someone I know. As we were perched on our stools, we were chatting animatedly about the various writing jobs we have had, the projects on the horizons and why we write. I sense for her, just as for myself, it is because she has an active and persistent Muse as well and she simply can’t NOT write either.

Another topic arose as we spoke about our sense of value for what we do, as thriving artists who have ‘earned our chops.’ There are times, I admit, when I still want the attention of those who, in my mind, have ‘made it’ to the upper echelon of our profession. When I was a child, I would symbolically ‘tap dance for attention’, loving being in the spotlight, relishing the praise I received for being precocious. At 56, it isn’t all that different. I still crave validation from my peers, although far less so. I have sent copious numbers of query letters to publications for which I desire to write, as well as proposals to ‘big stage’ places at which I want to teach. Sometimes I fuss and fume, mostly internally and occasionally in ‘kvetching’ moments with friends. Then I recognize that everything in my life has arrived right on time, as if directed in for a landing by celestial air traffic control. It is a matter of trust that even if there are flight delays, that the plane will safely traverse the runway. Have some of the ‘flights’ been bumpy? Yep. Have I gotten ‘air sick’?  Uh huh.

What lessons have come home to roost have had to do with surrendering the need to pursue that which I desire. Frankly, it got really exhausting to keep planting and then digging the seeds up to check if they were growing. These days, I am increasingly content with refraining from plowing the same field. I have, instead uncovered a not so secret secret, that if I send out a beacon signal, someone will see it and respond to it. I have become a magnet for success in all forms, knowing that the pursuit of it is less satisfying than the acceptance when it eventually arrives.