The Dream That Won't Die

I just heard of someone taking a year off every seven years or so, to just be still and quiet and create. As I sit here staring into space thinking of how my word well  has run dry (or at least "the connection from my head to my heart to my fingertips" - I just heard that one as well), I know that is the answer I wish I could grant myself. (Inspiration credit goes to this video: "Daring Greatly to Unlock Your Creativity" With Brené Brown - Chase Jarvis LIVE)

I look back on my life and see little "breaks" built into it. When my first child was born, I had about a year off. Nine years later, his brother was born and I had another break from the work world. Eleven years following that, my third son was born and I had six months at home alone with him before I opened my daycare. Ten years after he was born, I ended up having surgery which gave me a short reprieve from my regularly scheduled work load and time to concoct a plan which ended up with me going back to school the following year.

That year of education was tonic for my soul. It was exciting to learn, to challenge my brain, to intermingle with adults again. Even though I still worked a little on the side, it was a year that I nourished "me". It was amazing.

My opportunity to work within the school system shortly thereafter seemed like an answer to a prayer. I envisioned an annual two month summer holiday (with Christmas, February and Easter breaks generously sprinkled throughout the winter months), where I would let my fingers go wherever they wanted to go. I would be quiet. I would hear the wise voice deep inside my subconscious mind. I would feel. And I would write. I can still picture that scene in my mind.

I think of John Boy Walton sitting at his desk by the window, with pen in hand writing down his thoughts at the end of his day.

I can't find the owner of this photo to give credit on their behalf but I did find this picture on this "How John-Boy Walton Influenced My Life" by J. Mark Powell

I don't dream of lavish vacations, luxurious retreats or faraway destinations. My truest dream is to sit in a room with a view from one of my grandparent's homes, stare out into the vastness of the prairies and reignite the brain to heart to fingertip connection.

This is the dream that won't die. I knew I had one in me somewhere ...
"Laura Ingall's Little House on the Prairie, with John-Boy Walton's desk with a second story view"