I am listening to Robert Johnson tonight and wanted to share these songs with you.
“But much of Johnson’s life is shrouded in mystery. Part of the lasting mythology around him is a story of how he gained his musical talents by making a bargain with the devil: Son House, a famed blues musician and a contemporary of Johnson, claimed after Johnson achieved fame that the musician had previously been a decent harmonica player, but a terrible guitarist—that is, until Johnson disappeared for a few weeks in Clarksdale, Mississippi. Legend has it that Johnson took his guitar to the crossroads of Highways 49 and 61, where he made a deal with the devil, who retuned his guitar in exchange for his soul.
Strangely enough, Johnson returned with an impressive technique and, eventually, gained renown as a master of the blues. While his reported ‘deal with the devil’ may be unlikely, it is true that Johnson died at an early age.”
I was out walking the beach today at that time of day when the very last winter light is slipping behind the islands across the water. I spied this last little bit of sunlight hidden away on the beach. It felt as if the sunlight wanted to linger just a bit longer on this gorgeous winter day.
Sometimes it feels as if my ideas, hopes, and fantastical schemes are sinking beyond unknown horizons along with the sun. But I know that nature has a way of keeping me both humbled and blessed. There is nothing like solitude and tranquility and beauty to discover and re-discover who I am and what I am capable of and how much I want to be part of the larger whole that brings peace to my part of the world.
On days when the sun is setting and it feels to be a daunting effort to keep on the sunny side, my memory harvests sunsets like this. Takes it in and tucks it away. I am reminded to keep sight of the bigger picture. And to not let go of the beauty that graces every single day. Every single day. Like the aperture on my camera, I have the ability to make it very very tiny and block out the essential parts that add to the beauty and to the panorama of Hope that feeds my desire to grow and to contribute.
Every day I pray for a little miracle. And today this sunset was it. It reminded me to appreciate the quiet and to still the voices that do not feel to have my better interests at heart. It reminded me to be in the moment and look to the present — which is my true daily miracle — one heartbeat at a time.
I made hotcakes this morning. I mixed up a batch of my special hotcake mix last night using the ingredients that I had on hand. There were a few essential things I was missing, but I feel that I more than made up for these by adding almond meal and toasted coconut. These hotcakes would never be on an IHOP commercial or in a photograph on the menu. They always pour into odd elliptical shapes — unbecoming to any self-respecting advertised hotcake. Depending on how well I have managed to pre-heat the skillet, they turn out perfectly golden or unappetizingly pasty-white or sometimes simply compost-worthy. Today was a good day, and they came out pretty close to just right. Goldilocks would have had no complaint.
While I was cooking them, it struck me that making hotcakes requires a great deal of mindfulness. You can’t heat the griddle too quickly. You need to whisk the batter just so, leaving the correct proportion of lumps. You have to test the griddle with droplets of water and listen for the sizzle before you pour the first hotcake.
Then comes the waiting. First, there is a test of patience that rewards you with hotcakes that are just the right color and just the right doneness before you flip them. Then you wait some more. It is always tempting to walk away from the stove after you have flipped them. There are bowls to rinse, syrup to heat, butter to be put on a plate. More coffee to be made. Compost to be taken out.
When I do not maintain the necessary mindfulness, the bottom gets too dry or too dark or too crunchy. These pancakes go to compost pile or to the dogs — who absolutely looooove burnt hotcakes. I know that it is best to wait.
This morning I waited and was rewarded with the loveliest of hotcakes. I thought of that maxim “Good things come to those who wait,” and I thought, Yes, this is so true. About the time I am ready to despair of ever realizing my loftiest of dreams . . . or the time when I feel I am just about ready to touch one of my goals, and it simply dissipates before me . . . or the time when I feel as if all is linking up just so and then something comes along and blows the line up . . . I must remember to think Patience . . . think Hotcakes.
Life always has its twists, turns, spirals, and trap doors. I would rather keep my eye on the prize and fall into a trap than be warily looking down at the path before me, wondering where the next booby trap is and hoping that I will somehow miraculously avoid it.
I was reading about trapdoor snails and came across this excerpt on why to keep these snails in your pond [http://aqualandpetsplus.com/]: “All the pond books recommend these belly foots (gastropods) for ponds. Theoretically, trapdoors make excellent algae eaters. However, we’ve never been able to measure their effectiveness — even when kept in mass quantities.”
So, basically, we know that these belly foots work for the reasons we want them to in the pond, but we just can’t measure their effectiveness. The correlation of gastropods to hotcakes and mindfulness might seem to be a bit of a stretch, but it clicked for me internally. Perhaps it is the usefulness of maintaining a dream, even when I can’t measure its effectiveness in the present moment. In other words, keep the dreams in the pond — in mass quantities — and hope for the best end results. Give up on measuring and simply believe that all is working as it should be.
One more thought: “Trapdoor snails (like most snails) slam their trapdoors when picked up or pestered.” And some more food for thought regarding dreams, goals, hopes, and opportunities . . . all excellent reminders when keeping goals at the forefront:
When pestered, slam the door.
When obstacles block your path, scoot away as quickly as your belly foot can take you.
Protect the essence of your shell and always maintain mindfulness.
Keep forward progress in motion, even if it feels to be a snail’s pace.
Don’t look back. Throw away the rearview mirror.
Keep flippin’ hotcakes, don’t mind the burnt ones, and shoot for the moon.
What struck me about this video is not simply the skill, commitment, dedication, and fearlessness that Thovex has devoted to his skiing. What struck me is that there are many moments on the video — if not throughout its entirety — where it feels that if Thovex had hesitated for one micro-second, he might have crashed into a tree or gone flying off the mountain into a rock wall. Mission Not-Accomplished.
I am not and have never been one to seek thrills by daredevil skiing down the mountain or by catching air on my kiteboard in ultra-cold seawater or by jumping out of an airplane. I love to hike the trail but am not interested in rock or ice climbing. Still, I was thinking about how this incredibly gutsy video parallels my life.
I actually can see how it does apply to my fiddle playing or my writing or my positive intending or my Thoreau-esque sauntering down the road through the forest or . . . you get the idea. Not exactly the stuff of thrills, spills, and chills to an observer. But this is my life. It matters to me how I feel as I absorb and interpret the environment that I have chosen to live in. Without hesitation.
Hesitation. It has its merits. I have certainly jumped all willy-nilly into certain situations and have not emerged with what has felt to be at the time the best of outcomes. And before I am too quick to judge a crazy outcome, I do realize that there is a bigger picture I cannot see. An unfinished play that has not been yet written. A dance that is still being choreographed. An elaborate tapestry that only allows me to see the underside — the side with the knots, the threads, and the inevitable slubs — all the while knowing that there is a gorgeous pattern seen from above. There is fate and there is destiny. There are many metaphors, allegories, analogies, and similes that I have read and that I have tried to apply like a Band-Aid to my wounded soul when I have really mucked up. Depending on the degree of mucking, these word pictures have provided temporary solace and have gotten me through to the next time I did not hesitate. And knowing me, the opportunity would certainly be there.
I have thrown caution to the proverbial wind and plunged into relationships, jobs, adventures at random. My brother and I are still laughing about the night that we got frozen out of our March camping trip without a tent in the unexpected snow and had to seek free hospitality à la couch surfing (we were broke: hence why we were snow camping) from one of the Lower Tavern’s regulars (stranger to us), Duane. Not exactly flying down a mountain at incredible speeds like Thovex but a leap of faith, nonetheless, that resulted in a high-speed Dukes-of-Hazzard car chase up an S-curved gravel road (we were actually the pursuers, not our host Duane). Yes, a leap of faith and a lengthy journal entry and a re-affirmation of my knowing that angels do exist. At the very least, I can say that we were not in Hesitation Mode.
Still, hesitation is not all that it is billed to be. It can really mess life up. If there are Band-Aid moments when I have not hesitated, I am thinking that there are exponentially more times when I have hesitated. Waffled. Procrastinated. Buried my head in the sand. Dinked around. Hoped it would go away or resolve on its own. I didn’t know what to do, so I hesitated. At the time, I simply didn’t realize that not making a decision is still making a decision. I am wanting to grow my awareness of this now. To hesitate or not to hesitate is not the question. They are exactly the same thing.
Although I am mightily aware of my propensity to jump first and think later, my perspective has changed slightly. There is the juxtaposition of spontaneity and hesitation. And there is the contrasting effect of believing and knowing. We believe with our minds, but we know with our hearts. We say what we think, but we act with our hearts. And . . . “Sometimes your only transportation is a leap of faith.” — Margaret Shepard
I have a research-oriented mind. And a creative heart. Maybe this is the challenge I create for myself. Perhaps I am so busy dissecting experiences into rational bits of mind and body and soul, I am creating moments of hesitation that would be best lived by just allowing my knowing self to have the wheel. Put my believing into the back seat — certainly invite it along — without the benefit of a spare steering wheel.
Can there really be so many complex parts to such a simple whole — this thing called life? Believing is important. Knowing is important. Really knowing. When I allow the seamless marriage of these two . . . Pilgrim, look out and hold on! Things are going to start happening in ways that my mind could not have ever imagined on its own.
One of my favorite quotes is “Always believe that something wonderful is about to happen.“ This has been a guiding quote through some challenging times in recent history. I have this quote scattered throughout my house. It is written on the front of my journal. I really value this quote. But I am adding to it today:
Always know that something wonderful is happening right now. Right now.
Walt Whitman wrote: “To me, every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.” There are feelings of comfort, peacefulness, appreciation, and joy in not only believing this but knowing that this true.
Miracles happen. They do. Every single moment. I KNOW this to be true. My awareness of an “unspeakably perfect miracle” erases the seam between my believing and my knowing. Embrace the moment. Ski the mountain. Know the miracle. Without hesitation.
Hope. What is it? I like the acronym for Hope in this image: Help Other People Evolve. What a great way to make hope real in my life: helping others. When I help others evolve and express my caring, I become witness to the promise of growth or change. This is not only exciting, it is inspiring. When I see someone else’s success or joy or delight as a result of their willingness to take the risk to evolve, I am blessed with hope concerning my life as well. It all comes full circle in the simplest and most elegant of ways. Hope gives back hope.
Hope keeps us alive. Without growth and change in life, I tend to lose focus of why I am on the planet. When I do not feel hope burning inside of me, life feels more than hopeless. It feels pointless. When I lose my sense of direction and feel utterly lost in a fearful place, I can feel hope being extinguished by despair and worry and fear.
These emotions disable my forward evolution, instead I am spiraled into a hopeless state of devolution. While a modern scientist might state that there is no such thing as devolution, I believe that my spirit and my intuition would disagree. I know, internally, when I am evolving into a new state of “advancement” and when I am devolving into a previous primitive state — those experiences that we sometimes refer to as being 2 steps forward and 3 steps backward. I like to feel growth and positive movement as a result of hopeful living. I have an aversion for devolution.
I like this acoustic version of the song “Despair” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. It is one of those songs that is both sad (with the potential for the self to be swallowed by overwhelming regret), yet it is hopeful. It speaks of wasted years, tears, and fears.
What sometimes feels like the path of least resistance can lead to “wasted years.” There have been times when I have given up hope and “settled” for various “hopes” that were not real: financial security, available opportunities, self-limitations on skills or resources — all perceptions and oftentimes a poor assessment of reality.
In January of 2014, I met a man from Jamaica on the beach in Hawaii. He said he was almost 80 years old, but he looked like he was in his early 60s. Life on the island was treating him well. His name was Cliff. We talked. He had a lot of interesting things to say. He asked to take some pictures of my hair before we said good bye.
Cliff told me that I was going to have the best year of my life. At the time, I thought that it was so kind of him to say such nice things. I wanted to believe that he was a prophet and that he could see things that I could not see at the time — things that I had lost complete hope of ever realizing or enjoying.
We parted paths, and I remembered his words throughout 2014. His words gave me hope. True Hope. Based on his prophetic words, I stopped settling for second or third best. I changed my game. I looked for better when things were just okay. When “bad” things happened — like getting laid off from work — great things kept happening as a result of these fear-inducing negative things. My life shifted into Amazing. Really great things presented themselves as a result of research, reaching out, staying alert, moving forward without fear, and hoping. Dreams that I have held for many years have grown into reality. Who would have thought?
Today? I feel like a Public Service Announcement for the Do-Not-Give-Up-Your-Hope campaign. Don’t stop hoping. Own your hopes. Act on your dreams. Don’t settle for second or third or fourth best. Don’t settle. “If it’s all in my head there’s nothing to fear . . . Nothing to fear inside . . .” Let me be your Cliff and hear that 2015 is going to be the best year of your life. The Best Year.
Partial lyrics from “Despair” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs:
“Don’t despair, you’re there
From beginning to middle to end
Don’t despair, you’re there
Through my wasted days
You’re there through my wasted nights
Oh despair, you’ve always been there
You were there through my wasted years
Through all my lonely fears, no tears
Run through my fingers, tears
They’re stinging my eyes, no tears
If it’s all in my head there’s nothing to fear
Nothing to fear inside
Through the darkness and the light
Some sun has got to rise”
What is it about goats? Goats. They are just such interesting animals. Goats are known for their lively and frisky and erratic behavior. It is believed that goats discovered the coffee bean. Goats have rectangular eyes so that they can see well in the dark. Wild goats don’t sleep. The proper name for a group of goats is a trip — not a herd.
Goats express so much with their faces, their voices, and their antics. People refer to a willy-nilly and unmanageable situation as a goat rodeo. When I see a video of a goat being a goat, I don’t see chaos. I see Par-tay!! Were I to have a piece of land that would allow for a happy goat habitat, I would invite a small trip to come and party.
There is something about animals that tug at our heart strings in ways that humans cannot. When we see a roly-poly puppy at the park, we drop our defenses. When we see a little kitten pogo-hopping across the floor, we say, “Awwww!” When I see a goat, I crack up. Goats are just so comical. There is something majestic and regal about having the power to be so funny. Anything or anyone that can make me laugh out loud has my utmost respect. It’s not easy being the jester for a human. It sometimes takes a lot for us let go and laugh out loud. Goats.
The way that things stack up don’t always make sense. You look at a rock cairn and you see dissimilar shapes and textures and sizes. What doesn’t naturally fit together neatly and perfectly into one whole structure has the potential to allow for balance to offset the dissimilarities in size and shape.
Cairns represent a balance that requires delicacy and a measure of hope. They offer natural beauty presented in a random-deliberate-natural sort of way. A lot like life. They do not ask for some added adhesive that will make the balancing act a little easier. The rocks defy gravity by leaning on each other. Cairns have the potential to stand for a very long time. They represent the possibilities that I might have overlooked otherwise.
I am thinking that cairns in the right setting appeal to me. I do like to see them on the beach below high tide such that the tide will roll in and eradicate the evidence of man — restoring a different natural order. The ocean is persistent that way.
I have an old scale that I bought at an estate sale. This scale has seen better-balanced days. In order for the pointer to balance the beam, I had to add several tiny antique French coins in one of the weights pan. The coins bring everything up to true. Balance. What is it exactly? We seek it. We desire it. We believe that we would appreciate how it feels . . . if we could only be certain that we are actually experiencing it. There are books and poems and songs written about balance. Still, I do not know exactly what it means or how it feels in my life.
We weigh decisions. And justice. And mercy. And priorities. And options. We weigh fairness and love and life. We somehow intuit when something isn’t feeling quite right, so we start to mess with the scale. We add more coins. Or we pick up a different rock to add to the cairn. We deliberate. Or we sometimes say the-hell-with-it and just give it a go.
Life’s events tumble together, and my carefully-constructed towers of well-thought-out plans are strewn all willy-nilly. Sometimes I am left with the oddest of pieces to balance back together again. I see the beauty in the pile of rocks that are before me, and I seek guidance and allow my intuition to lead me.
I recently read a great Irish proverb: “A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.” I so agree. A good laugh is like medicine and a long sleep restores the body and the soul. Along the vein of cairns, I was thinking about which life blessings provide me with balance: laughter, sleep, forgiveness, appreciation, humility, kindness, patience, travel, adventure, discovery, learning, courage . . .
The way that things stack up at times doesn’t always make sense, but I continue to attempt to counterbalance with those things that point me to true.
I found this quote by Marianne Williamson as I was clicking through folders on my external hard drive. I tried to remember the circumstances under which I felt compelled to take the time to copy this quote and save it under the folder entitled “Choices,” but the date stamp of over 2 years ago on the document was not enough of a clue. What was I doing, feeling, or thinking two years ago? Was I at some intersection of hope and denial . . . and a’waiting some guidance to come traveling my way?
“The choice to follow love through to its completion is the choice to seek completion within ourselves. The point at which we shut down on others is the point at which we shut down on life. We heal as we heal others, and we heal others by extending our perceptions past their weaknesses. Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who that person is. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is. Forgiving others is the only way to forgive ourselves, and forgiveness is our greatest need.” – Marianne Williamson
This is a great quote. Marianne Williamson is an inspiring and excellent writer. Whenever I read her writing, I feel inspired to stretch a little further and search a little deeper. It is good to read words that encourage me to grow in exponential directions. I find that I can only read so much of Williamson’s writing before it is time to set the book aside for some absorption time. It makes for a slow read this way, but I always feel enriched and guided by the thoughts that are inspired by her words.
I do not create very much time to read in my daily life and, as a result of this non-priority, I have been carrying the same book by Marianne Williamson on various vacations for over 5 years. The book has a lot of notes scribbled in the margins and the pages are curled along the edges. There is beach sand embedded where the pages meet the binding. If you hold the book open and fan the pages, the reminder of Hawaii will sift onto the table. The cover is faded from sunlight, and the pages have been dog-eared and un-dog-eared. I am about 1/3 of my way through the book. It looks like this book is going to see a lot more travel by the time it is retired on the bookshelf. It is too worn and weary of a passenger to be passed on to a different reader.
Besides, trying to decipher someone else’s notes in the page margins always breaks the flow for the new reader. It leaves one wondering why the passage on this page is so significant that someone took the time to pen a remark. The new reader feels that he or she perhaps missed some essential point that the previous reader clearly pounced on and duly noted. I find that it is better to start with a fresh book than to try to analyze another reader’s scribbles and observations. Maybe I am odd that way, but I like to create my own flow.
I thought I lost the book on one of my trips to Hawaii, so I bought a new copy that was all clean and smooth. Then the old copy re-surfaced in a carry-on bag while packing for a trip, so I switched the newer version for the original version. Back to Square One in the home-i-est of fashions.
So, I was reading from my well-traveled book the other day — now that I am traveling for a few months — and thinking about how life has moved me into a blessed place in time: an imaginative and real culmination of a dream I have nurtured for well over 10 years. It feels as if I am in a magical bubble that is allowing for me to pursue interests and dreams and disciplines that have felt to be so distant from my daily reality. I am exercising everyday again. I have all of my instruments out of their cases and at-the-ready to be played. I l-o-v-e this. I have my laptop set up in an inspiring spot in the new house I am renting for the winter — with a view to the west and to the north. I am cooking from recipes — not simply broiling a quesadilla or throwing compatible food ingredients into a pot and calling it good. I baked chocolate chip cookies yesterday. For those of you who regularly bake, this may not seem like such an extraordinary thing. But for me? It has been many years since I have done anything even remotely this wonderfully culinary. The cookies came out too dark, flat, and lacy at the edges . . . not my preferred genre of cookie. Still. I made cookies and the house smells great.
I feel that I am in this gracious bubble of choosing to make conscious choices.
Still, being in this extraordinary moment is the culmination of many challenging times and sometimes-awkward choices. I have stated my preferences and not stated my preferences. I have turned left when it might have been more advantageous to have turned right. I have laughed when it was inappropriate and I have cried when the tears weren’t worth the effort. Everything has all somehow flowed into one channel that has led me to a time of feeling peaceful and fulfilled. With life’s chaos reigning these past years, I have the awareness to appreciate the bubble while it is floating. And it feels great.
I sometimes feel as if we are afraid to celebrate too loudly . . . these delightful and surprising moments of awesome-icity that just make for incredibly-saturated present moments and delicious memories. If I celebrate too loudly, will moments like this ever return to me? Haven’t I been trained to hide my ecstatic joy under a bushel basket, lest it be conceived as a negative sort of expression that speaks too loudly? I don’t know. Maybe I was raised in a more stringent time or culture — one in which we are taught to not proclaim feelings of joy too loudly. It might make someone else feel badly. Or it might be perceived as bragging or trouncing someone else who is struggling. Or it might be simply bad manners.
Is it? I hope not. That would never be my intent. Never. I am just simply feeling the atmospheric joy of the bubble.
What’s next? I wrote in my journal yesterday. I thought of several things and wrote them down in my signature columns and charts and boxes that organize my thoughts. Then I realized that what has essentially led to Now has been honoring my intentions, my dreams, and my goals. The lines from all of those columns and lists and analyses have been blurred into Now.
Events, blessings, and surprising circumstances are possible. The bubble is real. Dreams may not line up in my presupposed perfect chronological order, but I received the encouraging confirmation this winter that if I keep the dream safe to my heart and extend it to the greatness of the Universe, it will all come ’round right.
I tell myself everyday, “Always believe that something wonderful is about to happen.” Some days I don’t believe in this as ardently as other days. But today? Today has been an extraordinarily good day. I walked in the forest and on the beach. I didn’t see another soul the entire time I was out. I wrote. I played my mandolin and kept my own time without a metronome. I finished baking the second half of the chocolate chip cookie batter, hoping that by refrigerating the dough overnight the cookies might look better coming out of the oven. They didn’t. They are even more burnt looking and lacier-edged, and flatter. They are stored in the freezer for some hapless house guest who will be offered a frozen, home-baked cookie.
Life is good. I l-o-v-e this song! Kool and the Gang are awesome!
Waiting . . . why do we call it waiting when we are always doing something else while we are doing what we call waiting? We wait at the bus stop. At the doctor’s office. In the conference room for a meeting to begin. At the lacrosse field for practice to be over. At home for dinner preparations to be completed. At a restaurant for a predictably-late friend to show.
We wait for our friends, our spouses, our partners, our parents, our family. We wait for children to tie their shoes or to pick up their toys. We wait for our spouses to finish getting ready so we can get going. We wait for our friends to all arrive so we can go into the theatre and find seats.
We wait while anticipating what we consider to be predictable outcomes. The truck to get lubed. The light to turn green. The ferry to arrive. Our grades to be posted at the end of the quarter. We wait for serious things like test results. We wait for unstable relationships to resolve by themselves. While in this labyrinth, we wait while we stay and we wait for the other person to go away.
We wait for technology to deliver. We wait for texts, emails, and attachments. While we wait, we bury our thoughts in our phones and our computers and our iPads. All in the name of waiting.
Sometimes we are patient; sometimes we are impatient. Sometimes we are intense; sometimes we are dreamy.
We wait in traffic and in line, while seated and while standing. While we wait, we laugh and we cry and and we grump and we think that we are thinking about nothing. While we wait, we make grocery lists and we think about how we should clean the bathroom before our guests arrive for dinner that night. We go for a quick run or we shoot a few hoops. We tidy our desks or we empty the dishwasher. We walk the dog while waiting for the car pool to arrive. We feed the cat while we are waiting for the last few minutes of the spin cycle to be done so we can transfer clean clothes into the dryer.
All of this productivity while we are waiting. There is a whole lot of energy that goes into waiting. Waiting is doing. And being. And thinking. And feeling. And living.
Do you ever feel as if you are waiting for your life to start? For it to begin in the way that you once saw it unfolding in your imagination? Did you see yourself living on Maui or did you think that you would have published at least two New York Times Bestsellers by now? Did you think that you would have lost all of that extra weight or that you would have been in good enough shape to climb Annapurna? Did you see yourself having returned to school and then walking across that stage for your diploma? Did you see yourself being an awesome studio musician or a brilliant politician or an inspirational speaker or . . . ?
I am aware that life is a swirl of matter and motion and that I am in my life’s vortex. I very much appreciate the amazing blessings that abound and that allow for me to be living my dream. My dreams. If waiting is living, then there is no time left to be thinking about waiting. It is officially time to set aside the sometimes overpowering notion of waiting and just start being alive. Am I waiting? If so, for what? Time is ticking and there truly is no time like the present to kick up my heels and yell Hallelujah. No more waiting.
There are several songs that come to mind . . . lyrics that talk about how life is not a rehearsal. It is an impromptu performance and you are the star. Yes, you. As introverted or private a person you may be, you are the principal actor in this play called Life. There are no second takes, no director calling, “Cut!” or “Action!” or “Roll ‘em!” or “Fade to black.” It is all a brand new Right Now. Why wait? Let the camera roll.
The next time I find myself waiting for anything, I hope that I am reminded of these thoughts and that I will re-direct my Waiting Thoughts into Creating Good Stuff . . . and continue to always believe that something wonderful is about to happen . . . while I am Waiting.