"Open cup or closed cup?" Hilary opens a phone call with these words, and I can hear her grinning. I've confessed to Hilary that she's my favorite processing partner, and it's mostly due to prompts like these that invite me to try out the words of my own story.
When I hear the word compassion, my first thoughts dance around the act of offering it: offering someone compassion. There's always an object, a recipient of the compassionate act. And how rare it is that I am the object of my own compassion . . .
What prevents me from being creative? Why do I struggle so mightily-- usually with the voices in my own head-- over naming myself creative?
Editing progress is made. Which requires much Compassion.
Clasping her cup of coffee across from me, DeAnna confessed, “I couldn’t sleep last night at all. I kept thinking: ‘How am I going to tell Christy that I’m sorry, but I’m just not creative?’ I honestly sat up all night last night worrying about this!” We were following up together by videoconference almost two… Continue reading Slinking Outside the Box