3 – In Order To Write With More Life, You Have To Be In Love With Your Own Life, All Minutes Of It

img_90749:26AM, day after Thanksgiving, and there’s music in everything— in the office chatter across the floor, in the way the near-dormant vines stare back at me, in my memory of the wines I had last night.  Today is a story.  Not “another story,” but a distinct and reciprocal narration, encouraging me with all scribbles and steps and emboldening me closer to my travels.  My children will look at their daddy with intrigue, interest, curiosity, asking me when back from a trip, “Let me see your pictures, Daddy!” Or, “What did you write over there?” Today assures everything, assures everything today and that I see is for me.

Working on client copy and my book, nowhere near where I should be if I want the NaNoWriMo 50k, novel or memoir or whatever.  Told I won’t be needed in tasting room till noonish, which means I could be over here writing for a while, if I wanted.  But I’m not sure I do.  Maybe I should go over there now, set out the water carafes, pour bowls, open bottles and wipe down counter, get in a position to do some storytelling, sell some wine.  Stay focused, in character—  And am I ever in my writing character now.  Keeping my daughter’s little face and my son’s smile in my perceptive lens.  I’m still very much in a thankful mode, thankful for everything.  For today, for what I see and what I hear, all the details around me from the 4-shot mocha, the mouse connected to my work laptop, my phone, the clothes I have on, the way the sun loses its skirmish with the clouds, so desperate to connect with some vineyard block out there but the clouds prove too stubborn.  And I just observe.  I have the best job in the world as the writing father, observing and learning and sharing what I learn…  Is that teaching?  Am I a “teacher?” I hope not.

This is very much a tryst with today, I’m more than certain this is love that I’m sensing—  And there it is, my sun, blaring down at the Sauvignon Blanc block at my left and through these adjustable shutters.  “Wake up!” it tells me.  “I’m awake!  I’m awake!” I propel back with a audible gratitude slab, eager for the ticks and tocks ahead of me, whether I’m in the tasting room sooner or later or much later or much sooner.  The day is giving thanks directly to me, leaping at me with these soft atmospheric rays.  No concern with any word count, this NaNo project that I more and more see as a joke…  Is the focus the word count or the project?  And when you’re done with your book, then what?  Anyway, I’m just in love and I’ll love being in love with the day.  I’m doing more than just “writing with life,” as I share with students.  I’m letting life write me, write for me, write about me and me write about it, or for it, or in it—  Why overthink this?  It’s life!  It’s there to be loved, lived, live in love— love love love… Feel like Dean Moriarty listening to Old God Shearing, seeing and hearing and feeling something that instructs me, shows me how to live more, exist less.  Yes, I’m certainly certain that today is not just ‘another story’.  What I narrate is narrated back, radically and reciprocal.