Returning home.

I called this Blog, Living Inspired, yet when it comes time to write, my own inspiration seems to run dry. I now realize that I have been trying too hard. Inspiration is not something that can be forced or created. It has to find you. As it turns out, I was reintroduced to my inspiration recently, while taking a morning walk through a local park. I went for the exercise and left with much more.

That crisp autumn morning, everything felt the same. It looked the same. It even smelled the same. Yet so many things were not the same. I used to go to this spot on the river often, when I was a teenager. Usually it was when life had become 'too much', and I needed to escape into solitude, sit with my deepest thoughts and figure out what was next. Usually, when I came down to the river, I would brood over family, friends, school, and boys - not necessarily in that order.

I would think about my parents and siblings, and the pull I felt between independence and loyalty. I would think about friends and how difficult it was to stay myself and still fit in with the crowd. I would think about school and work, how to get it all done, and why. And the boys...Well, I thought lots of things about boys, some of which I will keep to myself, at least for now. But what I remember most is that I so often longed for more...needed more - and sometimes cried for more.

There is a quote by Nelson Mandela that reads "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." And on that recent day, sitting by the river in the filtered September sunlight, I discovered how much I had altered.

Here I was, 20 years later, walking the same trails, sitting on the same riverside boulders, and thinking. I was thinking about my husband and children, and the pull I sometimes feel between independence and loyalty. I thought about my friends and the delicate balance between 'benevolent superficiality'(yes, I really thought that), and authenticity. I thought about school and work, how to get it all done, and why. And yes, I even thought about 'boys', although realistically 'boys' is no longer an accurate description. The difference this time, and the realization that drew a different kind of tear, was that on this day I looked at everything from a perspective of absolute gratitude. I realized the 'need' was gone. Certainly I am not suggesting that life is now perfect. But somehow I have found a sort of perfection in the imperfect. I feel grateful for the incomplete, the confusing, and the contrast. 'Perhaps', I realized, 'it is the siren call of my own inspiration.'

Living Inspired, while undoubtedly a worthwhile ideal, may not be all sunshine, lollypops, and butterflies. Not if it is to remain authentic. Sometime 'Living' has rough edges, missing bits, or tear stains. And sometimes, I learned, it takes a visit to "a place that remains unchanged", to show us how far we have come. To settle us, and to allow the inspiration to find us.

Hands on the Wheel

I was sixteen, and I was nervous. The crisp, yellow sheet of paper in my wallet was proof that I now had permission to drive, but secretly, I wasn't at all sure what I was doing. My friends, who already had their licence, drove confidently. Free to go to places and connect with people inaccessible to me on a bicycle. I really wanted to drive - needed to drive. I had places to go. So I took a deep breath, got in the car, and drove. I have to admit, I did drive through one stop sign that day, but fortunately, no accidents. Every day I gained confidence, and every day my world grew bigger.

While I know that a blog is no 1982 Toyota Corolla, I am struck by some similarities. A blog has the potential to take me to places I have never been, and to connect me with people I would never otherwise meet. But, like the day I got my licence, I'm not entirely sure I know how to drive this either. The thing is, I have places to go...


I've called this Blog "Living Inspired" because I deeply believe the world is starving for inspiration. I once asked a class of adults, what inspired them. What were they passionate about? The reply, was silence. Some shifted uncomfortably in their chairs while others met my gaze with brimming eyes. "Passion? Life's too busy for passion.", someone whispered. My inner voice screamed in response, "Life is never too busy for passion, for the rush of inspiration!"- while I sat quietly.

I don't want to sit quietly anymore. In my small way I want to breathe life back into life. If the only person inspired along the way is me, it has been a worthwhile endeavour. If others find themselves joining me on this 'living inspired' journey, it would be great to have the company, as a journey like this is always more enjoyable with friends.

The key is in the ignition, and I am ready to go!

Sharon