Lately, external forces conspire to manage my life. Other people’s agendas supersede my plans, snarled traffic, and miss communications slow my progress. Malfunctioning appliances waste precious time, and projects budgeted for five or ten minutes end up consuming my entire day. I wonder if I am fighting a losing battle. I seem to confront a brick wall, no matter which way I turn. I could continue to bang my head against that dense and immovable obstacle, or I can search for the key that will allow me to break free.

Walking amid chaos is stressful, but trying to resolve what we cannot control often makes matters worse. As difficult as it might be, sometimes the best course of action is to circumvent our thought patterns and accept the current circumstance, then let it go. Giving up doesn’t mean we like, condone, or approve of the situation – it just means we realize there is no workable method for changing things today. Instead of engaging in losing battles, we may discover the better part of valor is in moving side, managing our perceptions, adjusting our outlook, and employing our sense of adventure.

Each morning a new day dawns with opportunities and choices. I opt to seek a fresh start and hope for a breakthrough. I place my faith in my ability to preserve. I concentrate on deliberate actions and creative ways to move me toward my goal.

How do you take back your time?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

There are a handful of activities I avoid because I lack talent. I have no sports skills. My face catches every baseball while my hands act as inefficient shields. Dribbling a basketball devolves when the ball bounces off my shoe and bent in half, I stumble-run, chasing the careening orb across the floor. Let’s not discuss my ineptitude in soccer, volleyball, or any sport that requires me to run. I don’t sing least I set the neighborhood dogs to howling like wolves, and I don’t write poetry.

The poems I love, I often memorize. It is a lengthy list including “Patterns,” by Amy Lowell, “The Raven,” by Edgar Allan Poe, and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” by Robert Frost. William Blake’s “The Tyger” is another one I adore and let’s not forget, “Friends, Romans, Countrymen,” Marc Anthony’s monologue from Julius Caesar. There are countless works by Emily Dickinson that can leap into conversation almost unbidden. I can recite a Shakespeare sonnet, and when Patrick Stewart began reading them on social media, I couldn’t stop watching. Ok, I’m a geek. “Sea Canes” by Derek Walcott is another favorite, and his epic poem “Omeros” holds a special place in my heart, though I doubt my ability to commit it to memory.

The poems I memorize, I choose with great care because I know they will live with me forever. I seek work that connects me with the poet, and poems where I feel the emotions they must have felt as they wrote. I enjoy rich imagery, and subtle shades of meaning, which beacons my soul to return time and time, again.

When I sit to compose, I try to clear my mind and allow my passions to embed themselves in the words, and embrace each phrase. It only happens when my heart takes the lead with my writing, not my head. Knowing what I intend to write dampens the message.

Do you write with your feelings?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

They say you can’t please everybody. No matter how hard you try, there is always one person you can never satisfy. Then there are dog-pile days. Every step you take is wrong. The sun shines too brightly. You wear the wrong shoes, your hair is too messy, and why can’t you smile? What were you thinking? It’s hard to put one foot right. Human nature begs us to avoid ridicule, make yourself small, avoid confrontation, set your course to self-preservation.

Everyone has an opinion of what is possible or impossible, and they will share. It is easy to cut other people’s ideas to shreds. They criticized the Wright Brothers and said men would never fly. They called Thomas Edison a failure. People told Henry Ford automobiles were just a fad. They said the same thing about the internet, email, and personal computers. Even with every success story, it is easy to doubt and wonder if they are right. You will never know until you bravely step forward and sing the song in your heart, write the story in your head, paint the image you see in your mind’s eye.

Dare to do something, say something, be something. Take your life, make it yours, make it spectacular, and become the once-in-a-lifetime person all your critics wish they could be.

What will the world lose if you allow your critics to silence you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

There is a ubiquitous phrase making the circuits. At first, I thought it was quaint. It was endearing when family members uttered it, but now the clerk at the drive-through window echoes the oppressive cliche. “Stay safe,” she says as she hands me my order.

Her words take my breath away, my heart constricts, and I can’t escape her plastic smile fast enough. She sparks an old familiar feeling. Live a safe life, don’t accept risks, color between the lines, conform, follow the rules, remain in your cage, watch your soul wither. Be predictable and boring, march with the crowd, fear the unknown, and strangle the voice inside my head screaming to be set free. There is a reason Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” is one of my favorites.

I realized the sentiment is a reaction to the virus, and I prefer everyone limit their chance of contracting, spreading, or suffering from this scourge. I don’t advocate or condone reckless or self-destructive behavior, and I don’t want anyone to suffer. But misery takes many forms, and there are risks associated with not taking a risk. Following the more traveled path leads me into habits created in fear, encourages small thinking, and my growth and individual development stagnate. In life, choosing the safe road will probably result in predictable results. Except our world is changing so quickly that the tried and true now often hold unforeseen pitfalls. We need to enter into our choices with our eyes wide open.

Today I choose the road less taken. Raging storms will greet me, but I have unshakable confidence in my ability to survive them, withstand the gale, and emerge stronger. I am prepared to kindle my inner fire while I face unexpected obstacles and challenges. Mistakes are inevitable, but I am determined to rise above them. At the end of my journey, I hope to discover my life was better than any dream I could have imagined.

What risk are you taking today?

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Yesterday’s opening salvo warned me it was going to be one of those days. In the spirit of self-care and celebrating me on Valentine’s Day, I searched for inspiration. It arrived as an email from Starbucks offering me 50% off my Starbucks® delivery order on Uber Eats, up to $10. Perfect. I settled on the Coffee Traveler filled with 96 fluid ounces of Blonde Roast and a Bacon, Gouda, and Egg Sandwich. Yes, I am the only coffee drinker in the house, but 96 oz would have been a welcome refresher. Except, the SENDLOVE coupon code didn’t work. I tried everything, but @Starbucks doesn’t love me. I canceled the order, brewed my usual everyday coffee, and headed out to shovel snow.

Our daytime high of 3 degrees, a -20 wind chill, and a forecast of 8-12 beginning Sunday evening, it was now or never. Time to eliminate the 3-4 inches on the drive and start and defrost the icy automobile. Everything was running smoothly. My fingers grew numb from the bitter conditions, and I wrangled on my second set of gloves. Too bad I didn’t remember to wear another pair of pants. But a few minutes sitting in the car warmed me enough to attempt finishing the last portion of the job.

That’s when it happened. For the record, I am a frequent faller professional. Please do not intentionally try this at home or anywhere else. My warm foot struck a patch of ice hidden under the snow. Both feet sailed behind me, and instinct flung the shovel down the driveway far from self-harm’s way. I assumed the skydiving banana position, head up, chin up, arms outstretched, and my feet – well, they were already flying in the air. And relax. Bam. My body hit rock-solid frozen cement, cushioned by an oh so soft and downy bed of snow and the bulky woolen coat. It’s a move I call the Reverse Snow Angel.

I lay motionless. My face hovered centimeters above the layered snow, as did my hands. I inhaled, followed by an exhale. A mental examination revealed my right knee had kissed the pavement. Whether because of the cold or maybe something likely to result in a bruise, the stinging sensation would need time to access. Like Sandra Bullock in “Miss Congeniality” with her “Mustang Sally” high heels and her slinky blue dress, I rose and shook it off. “I’m fine. I’m cool. I’m good.” I waved to my neighbors and took a bow. Wait. What do you mean the cameras weren’t rolling? Take two? Where is my stunt double? Instead, I finished shoveling.

Inside, re-acclimating to the warmth, I decided I had earned a glass of wine. A 2010 Castello Di Bossi Berardo Chianti Classico Riserva made my cut. I cleaned a goblet, and as I prepared to extract the cork, it snapped in half in the bottle’s neck. Not to worry, I’ve trained for this too.

How do you celebrate challenging days?

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I’m so grateful to have,
Special friends like you!

Valentine’s Day is all about love, and today I want to say thank you to my awesome friends and followers.

When I think about the people who matter to me, you are at the top of my list. You fill my heart to overflowing when you take time from your busy schedule to stop by, read, like, comment, or share what is on your mind. I adore you, and I am honored to have the privilege of sharing your good days and the bad. I root for you during challenging times and celebrate your every victory. Yes, even your smallest, most insignificant win brings a smile to my face, and I can’t wait for your next astounding breakthrough. Thanks for being my friend.

I hope your Valentine’s Day is full of hugs, kisses, wine, and chocolate—but maybe not in that order.

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I admit it. I was born stubborn, pig-headed, and maybe a touch rebellious. Like Marty in the “Back to the Future” movies, the easiest method of goading me into action is to call me a chicken. You have seen the films, haven’t you? Whenever someone calls Marty chicken, it sets off alarm bells in his brain and forces him to do crazy unexpected things. Doc Brown and Jennifer try to warn him of the dangers, but Marty is a man on a mission, and he won’t let anyone dissuade him.

Throughout the trilogy, the ensuring response is spectacular, and whether by dumb luck or perhaps a peek of the courage buried within Marty’s character, everything works out better than expected. Every tool in the arsenal is only helpful when used with intention, and in “Back to the Future Part II” we discover Old Marty has paid a hefty price for not thinking through the consequences of his actions.

Proving people wrong is a driving motivational force when you channeled in the right directions. So, you’ve always wanted to be a writer, an artist, an Olympic ski-jumper, or an oceanographer, and your friends and family laugh at your deepest desires and tell you, you can’t. Dig deep, channel your inner Marty McFly, and dare to act. Who are they to say your dreams are unattainable, silly, or risky?

If there is an ember glowing in your soul that creates a burning desire, don’t allow them to extinguish your spark. Imagine yourself in the winner’s circle, be realistic about the hurdles, obstacles, and objections you must overcome, and decide that this is what you want. Do it despite your critics, the overwhelming odds, and the possibility of failure. Embrace your dream, soar like an eagle, and prove them wrong.

What spurs you to action?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

We’ve all heard the cliches. We know we need to make lemonade when life hands us lemons. With enough pressure, we transform from lumps of coal into brilliant diamonds. Yeah. Those well-meaning, feel-good images are supposed to help change our perspective and encourage a calm, peaceful search for a silver lining. But sometimes they annoy me, and I  want to scream until my voice cracks, beat my fist on my desk, or hurl a brick against the wall. Often, THAT improves my outlook. Why should we pretend nothing is wrong when it clearly is? I say, throw a temper-tantrum, cry, howl, yell, and express your outrage. Experience your bubbling molten lava anger and then get busy.

Embrace the obstacle, face your issues, introduce yourself to your nemesis, and get to know them. What makes them tick, what rules run their world, and what puts them into opposition with you? I am not suggesting that you wallow in your suffering, push the blame onto others, or expect someone else to save the day. To triumph over a situation, you must accept it, understand how you got there and where to go next. How do you solve the problem? Once I’m annoyed, I must fix the issue and ensure I never travel that road again.

Powerful magic dwells there. We can endure great pain, beat horrendous obstacles, and live to tell the tale to the awe-struck masses. Google is full of miracle, one-off stories of survival, and yes, they are inspiring. But surviving the event is not the end of the story. For me, it is only the beginning. A much more fascinating adventure happens after you withstand the onslaught. Did you emerge changed? Transformed? Wiser? Kinder? Did your endurance test fill you with an essence so powerful, everyone you meet feels it?

What challenge has forever changed you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The supply chain is broken. The supplies to tackle the snowdrift above my front door and my icy steps are in limbo. An email notification informed me neither my ice-melt nor my roof rake would arrive as promised. The roof rake is out of stock, with no projected delivery day, so I canceled the order. I doubt I will have a use for it in June. There is a back-order on the ice-melt, with expected arrival on the 17th. The extended forecast calls for snow on eight of the next fourteen days, with temperatures never breaking freezing. Yep, I might still need to thaw some ice. I checked availability and shipment dates for flame throwers, just in case.

The dusting of snow also did not arrive as expected. I thought I had dodged a bullet, but as I was contemplating Plan B, the lead-gray clouds puked, perfect special snowflakes all over my clean driveway. Ugh. So, back to Plan B. Step One -I need mood music. I turn the volume to rafter-shaking and cue the “Rocky” Soundtrack. I move to the next phase, where I shovel snow in my house slippers after removing the second-floor window above the porch. It is a double-hung Cottage Window that removes easily for cleaning. The area outside is a 3 x 3 section, and I can reach the entire space without leaning out too far.

I attack the 2 ft tall pile and push layers of snow over the brink. Something moves on the street below. It’s Mrs. Nosy Butt-Insky from the next block, out for her daily reconnaissance mission, code name, W.A.L.K. I pretend I don’t see her. She stops, waves, and when I don’t respond, she yells, “What are you doing?” A thousand retorts line up, ready to pepper spray her with any answer but the obvious. I need time to censor my thoughts, so I place my hand to my ear and shout, “What?”

She moves closer, cups her mittened hands around her mouth.

“I said, what are you doing?”

“Eye of the Tiger” is blasting, but I don’t turn it down. I push everything I could say from my mind like I push icy, snowy chunks over the edge to explode on the steps and sidewalk.

“I’m shoveling snow.”

Her hands fall to her side, she blinks and shuffles her feet. I can hear the gears working in her head. They are louder than my music, and I silently wish for her shuffling boots to carry her down the street. No such luck. She cups her mouth again and yells, “Why?”

“It’s blocking my view.”

I couldn’t help it the words escaped into the frigid air before I knew what I was saying.

She turned, looking at the house behind her, then back at me.

“Your view of what?”

“Don’t stay out too long. Frostbite is nasty.” I wave and send another clump flying.

“Living In America” echoes between the houses as I finish my job.

How do you explain the obvious?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Speaking of the Forecast, I severed all further communications. The latest love note informed me I should expect to wake to a light dusting of snow Wednesday, 1-3 inches Thursday afternoon, and 4-8 inches Friday night into Saturday morning. High temperatures through the weekend will hover between 10 and 15 degrees. Winter, our relationship is officially over.

I woke dreading the task ahead of me. What I put off yesterday, I must deal with today. I donned my Sasquatch Suit and hit the button to open the garage door. It lifted three feet and stopped. The opener has a rebellious streak, and when it gets too cold, she refuses to raise the door without assistance. That means me lifting while the motor is engaged. I can’t accomplish this feat from the inside since it’s impossible to hit start, negotiate the crowded path, and lift before everything stops. The logistics only work from the keypad located outside. Several minutes later, after trudging through the white powder, a false start, a reset, and uttering the magical curse words, the portal opened, and I victoriously grasp the salvation shovel. There was music, the clouds parted, sunbeams glinted off the clear plastic scoop, and tears formed in my eyes. Or maybe that was the wind blowing snow in my face.

The actual shoveling portion of the show was uneventful until I got to the front porch. Ice encased the two steps. As I chiseled with the back of my blade, a frigid droplet targeted the only centimeter of exposed skin, landed on my neck, and trickled down my spine. Hello Momma. Attached to the gutters, evil icicle stalactites lurked, biding their time, planning the perfect moment to let go, come crashing downward intending to inflict bodily harm. Not on my watch.

I waved the shovel over my head and connected with nothing but air. I stepped on the first riser, swung again, and on this attempt, I shattered the crystal demons. But now I had another problem. A snowdrift curled over the gutter. It was a potential avalanche. I saw their diabolical plan. First, the frozen water daggers would take me down while the snow buried me alive. When spring arrived, and they found my body, the killers would get away scot-free. I raised Salvation Shovel, and like Excalibur, he sliced thru my attackers. Dead snowflakes coated my hat, face, arms, and I sputtered but won the day. My neighbors must think I’m crazy.

Wait until tomorrow when the roof rake and ice-melt arrive, and I take my game up a level.

Are you playing in the snow?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer