Writing clear, brief, and bold
Delivering inspiration and wisdom with stories
Minutes before the start of my son’s soccer game, I cried. I gasped for breath when I read the news that Michael Patrick Lynch had died. Michael was the Irondequoit teen who was struck by a car while crossing the street on his way to school.
Selecting three words helps keep me focused on goals I want to achieve and habits I want to start in the new year.
The following letter—15 lessons for 15 years—I wrote to my son on his 15th birthday, January 9, 2017. I left the letter on my son’s pillow. After he read it, he came to my room, gave me a hug and said: “Thank you.” I felt like a large stone was caught in my throat and I struggled …
I write like that: in fits and stops. Bits of prose, poetry, and rhyme wind along the road to nowhere. There is no ending, yet. There is just a feeling I must put on paper. This feeling spills from my finger tips, into my notebook or on the screen. Captured. I am crushing it. I …
The last sip of summer is a lovely phrase that embraces the beautiful reluctance of letting go the final carefree days of summer.
Grief brings you to your knees; shakes you to your core and rattles your senses. In a blink of an eye, or over time, the end of a life leaves painful scars on the living.
Watching soccer in May despite wintry conditions turned out to be an excellent lesson in mindfulness.
For every new beginning, there must be an end; for each gain, a loss. But what happens in between? Transition.
