writing

Work, work, work…

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What constitutes our work?

We all struggle with this to varying degrees. Is work strictly what earns money? What about the unpaid hours of mothers, wives, caretakers and friends? Is it any less important because there’s no dollar amount attached to it? Is the real work what thrills us? Scares us?

Oddly, I think the highest compliment my husband gives people is “They’ve done their work”. But what does that mean? That they’ve spent time in therapy? That they know themselves well enough to stop projecting on others?

Initiations teach us about ourselves. You learn your limits: for tolerance, fear, hunger and thirst. Next week I’ll be supervising a faster on her first vision quest alone. While she’s out in the woods by our house, I expect I’ll relive my own Initiation in that tradition, too.

But last week, when an Initiation of my own came, it was something quite different. It was an Initiation I almost gave up on ever happening… A publisher accepted my memoir manuscript.

When I got the email, my body went through a combination of shock, elation, disbelief and resolve. And I’m still not entirely over it. After steeling myself for the many rejections writers receive, I hardly knew what to do with myself when the acceptance came.

Of course, there’s a lot of hard work ahead. There’s editing to complete, packing, distributing, marketing and all the rest, but the Choice has been made, and the Commitment was kept. My Trust in my Higher Purpose and Right Action follow-through on it has given me proof about the Process. Being published is a big deal! It’s a new Initiation for me.

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