Gentle Growing

I often think about certain questions and find myself wondering...

why 

and when

and  why is it so hard to find something with meaning and purpose?

Some days, those questions are too hard and I imagine curling up in an armchair, safe from the world, in a cozy sweater, hot tea steaming nearby, hidden in a small curved room full of books and art and companionable solitude.

I think of chilly October mornings and clear bright morning light streaming in through rounded windows; shades of golden mustards and warm browns and rich russets; scuffed wooden bookshelves; of inky words trailing across well-worn pages; halls and corridors and winding stairs. I think of whimsical watercolors and spines of cheery children's books; hot chocolate in short round mugs; sloping dark letters arching and furling across parchment; lovely lettering of wit and wisdom.

I wonder how and why and when to make that real...to find success and sustainability in something so dear and precious when every posting calls for years of experience in a very particular field. For now, it is enough to build a life and do work. To shape moments of meaning, beauty, and fulfillment where I am right now. 

I’ve learned how to more gently handle the question ‘why not me?’ —nine times out of ten, the answer is either myself (and a matter of getting out of my own way, not letting fear stop me from answering the question) or simply, ‘not the right time.’

It’s a sort of gentle growing—a sort of living out the questions, as Rilke says. Eventually you live into the answers.