The recent transition to Improvised Life’s new architecture continues. It echoes a bigger sea change in my own personal life:
How to balance my need for more time and spaciousness with the endless demands of a 10-year-old active website rooted in an increasingly competitive and numbing internet?
…and more specifically,
What do I need to let go of to get back to balance and creativity?
In posts and emails, I shared these questions. Among the many deeply affirming messages I received from readers —”We’re with you…with whatever you want or need to do.”— the most interesting was from long-time contributor Susan Dworski…
She wrote to say that reading about Improvised Life’s Sea Change had catalyzed her own:
Your post sparked a wonderful dream last night in which I was at a fancy dinner party with movers and shakers. Someone mentioned that for a writer or artist to be taken seriously these days they had to explore dystopia.
I suddenly stood up and said loudly, “Well, that’s not my mission this time around.”
All faces turned, aghast.
“My mission is to seek beauty, find humor, and bring joy.”
As I spoke that aloud, I woke up.
It was as if a huge stone had rolled off my chest.
I had a mission statement!
Who knew, now that my hair’s turned white, to finally have a mission statement? Let alone such a mission!
So simple, so delightful to fulfill. One that is not transactional; that does not include commodification.
Your sea change has stimulated a sea change in me.
“Whither leads the voyage?
Sea change: a good virus; benign contagion.
That got me thinking that Improvised Life’s mission has always somehow been to catalyze sea change on a daily, often atomic, level: to create shifts in how we see and think about what’s around us, and the choices we can then make. THAT is the virus I want Improvised Life to spread: to infect readers with a sense of possibility, and a bit of courage to explore new territory. THAT’s my mission statement.
I opened my slim copy of The Moon Before Morning by W.S. Merwin to a perfect poem, Turning. With the synchronicity I’ve come to expect from writing Improvised Life for so many years, came W.S. Merwin’s words for the very heart of my sea change:
Going too fast for myself I missed
more than I think I can remember
almost everything it seems sometimes
and yet there are chances that come back
that I did not notice when they stood
where I could have reached out and touched them
this morning the black Belgian shepherd dog
still young looking up and saying
Are you ready this time