Missing the Wave

Scrupulous. Intentional. Breathing in moments.

That’s how I envisioned last week would be. Daily life landed me far from the mark, and I missed some moments. One moment in particular hurt my heart a little bit, but sometimes that’s what it takes to snag my attention.

I was working in the yard moving plants as my daughter walked out of the house toward her Jeep. I walk up alongside her, give her a hug, and as she backs out, I stroll over to the pathway of stepping stones in the middle of the yard and wait for her to drive by. Except that day, I had a shovel in my hand and was moving one more plant.

This is something new we began doing this year, and it’s become ritual.

Normally, I stand on the path, wait for her to drive by and give her this wave filled with exuberance, like Miss America after drinking way too much coffee. She waves too, but that day when she drove by, I was in the side yard, so I missed the wave. It’s difficult to know how important something is until it’s missed.

A few days later she was leaving the house and we stepped through our leaving ritual. I suggested when she reached the end of the driveway to turn in the opposite direction and drive by the house one lot over that had been beautifully repainted. She sat there a moment and said, “But if I go that way, I’ll miss the wave.”

I smiled and on que began walking toward the middle of the yard to the path. This time, there was no missing the wave.


There once was a guy who named his dog, ‘Stay.’ When he called him to come the poor dog heard, “Come here, Stay.”

The Wrong Screen

The main reason I joined the Fearless community was to confirm what’s meaningful and rediscover my meaningful work. I knew writing was meaningful, but it doesn’t feel like work, hence the confusion.

I struggled for a while finding time to blog. It’s easy to get wrapped up in all the changes happening within my job, but here’s what I know today. There’s no amount of money worth taking up all of my time.

Writing is not something I try to find time for, it’s what I want to do. It’s about allowing a space to open, sitting down in that space and not leaving until I’m out of words. It’s a sacred space to let the words spill, and spill they do.

Taking time to write in our lives gives us the time of our lives.

Julia Cameron-The Writer’s Life
Photo by Danielle MacInnes on Unsplash

It’s a cool morning in Texas halleluiah!

The front door swung open early to let the cool breeze wash over the inside of our home. Our house cat, Chombus, loves sitting in front of the screen door. I noticed him staring intently at something on the front porch, so I walked over to investigate his fascination.

It was a twig rocking back and forth, being moved by the wind. Being an indoor cat, he’s never experienced a twig, so I opened the door and brought it inside to lay it on the floor in front of him. He moved it around and tried to bite it, just doing cat things to the twig.

That’s the kind of life I enjoy, where I’m never too busy to hand our cat a twig. As I finish typing this up to go back to my work, I can’t really classify writing as meaningful work. It doesn’t feel like work but is packed full of meaning.

There’s meaningful moments within our everyday life. It’s a matter of stepping away from the computer screen and standing in front of the screen door. Thank you Chombus, (the cat) for reminding me this morning not to spend too much time in front of the wrong screen.

Happy Friday my darlings. ~ Big love! Barb