Day 1

When I was in the 6th grade there was a city-wide coloring contest. Mrs Bryton handed out the entry form which featured the outline of a fire hydrant. A brief description at the top of the page indicated that contestants in grades 3 through 6 would compete for the chance to create designs that would be used to decorate real fire hydrants all over the city.

For me it was a chance at fame and glory. I took out my big box of 64 crayons, all neatly sharpened and standing at attention like toy soldiers. Mark Haden, with his tussled hair and dirty fingernails, sat in front of me, scribbling furiously with a little stub of blue, as I stared at the lines of the naked hydrant on the page.


I thought long and hard before I picked up a crayon. The judges of this contest would be adults. I knew how to please the adults. They wanted something neat, something that made sense. I was searching for a logical design. Then it hit me. It was 1976. How about the centennial? I carefully removed my red, white and blue crayons. I would give them exactly what they wanted.

Logic paid off and I won the contest. Over the years, time and again, logic served me well. It helped me succeed at school and work and even in my personal relationships, or at least I thought it did. I won pats on the back and blue ribbons for being reliable and predicable, for playing it safe and coloring within the lines.


It worked until it didn't work anymore. It's hard to pinpoint the moment when things first began to change. Perhaps it was finishing my Ph.D. I completed the exams and the dissertation, did everything that was expected of me. I followed the rules, both spoken and unspoken, and I was rewarded with yet another degree. I found myself saying: "Now what? Is this all there is?"

I am writing this blog because I am confident that the answer is NO! There is something more to life. I suspect that the creative process is a method of mining out the joy. It may even be the very reason we are here.

I am committed to living my life more creatively. For me, that means honoring that which is most alive in me. It begins with listening to that still, small voice inside. It is stepping into darkness and trusting myself to fly.