Self-helpy gurus will say that annoying thing to encourage grown women to find a satisfying activity, especially a new career: ‘ What did you love to do when you were a kid?’

I shake my head and think of how limited my choices were at that age. All I did when I was a kid was read through the library.

Hmm.

Here lately I’m letting that count. These hundreds of books I’ve consumed are even more fun than when I was in single digits.

I’ve leaned into my love of reading in the last couple years. I’ve read more than a hundred books each year for the last three years.

When I allowed myself to feel the reality that I had written a book myself—not just one but four! —I engaged with books as an equal. They are colleagues, not experts.

The books were less magical; they became earth and food and life-sustaining art.

Writing a book is a particular and rare thing. This weekly wonder is writing. It has a different structure.

There are some bits that I write that I are not weekly wonder pieces. This platform has it’s own shape and voice that I’ve created with you all.  I want to pull back the curtain to share some of the choices I have made as I’ve built this essay over the last 10+ years.

The goal is to serve the action immediately. Funny, my action is seldom action. The Weekly wonder has ideas, thoughts, perspectives or wonderings.

It’s in the title.

Fuzzy cloudy soft-edged ideas can move in and out of focus. I slash every word and phrase to get to the hard nugget, a useful idea to be carried around and used. Every weekly wonder leave piles of clauses cut from my sentences.

You can’t be in the text.  I don’t know what you are thinking. We don’t do anything, unless I can prove it.

I’m the only one I can about. I have to admit what I am thinking, feeling, doing as my own. I have had many of you (yes, you, readers) write to me over the years to tell me I am not alone. I’m grateful to you.

The art of this feeds me. I hear that it feeds others, doubling my joy.

“It’s okay to just sit there and wait for it.”

My acting friend had brought us all together to practice improv again. We haven’t been able to get together because of the pandemic.

Quarantine was not what we wanted. We had been getting a groove together as we worked through improv scenes. But that was a long time ago.

I was so glad when Jenn reached out to to ask if I would be willing to come work some scenes outside. We could stay distanced and be safe and everything. But we are artists and it was high time to get some practice.

When the going gets tough, artists make art.

We warmed up and marked out the borders of the stage so we could practice proper stagecraft. We did a few small scenes and were reminding each other how we had been taught.

Say one short sentence.  Let it sit.

Then the response.

Wait.

The story will unfold naturally.

In improv, it’s all about relationships. Just like life.

Time and silence helps conversations with people. When I speak, I can give it time to sink in. Then wait to hear the response.

That gives so much depth to the conversation. It shows a lot of confidence to let the silence ride. Leaving that much space is generous to others, allowing them to use the space.

It is not so common. Many people find silence in conversation deeply unsettling and jump forward to fill it.

Amazing things can be revealed in that silence.

The truth can bubble up when it has the space. Silence lets a situation breathe.

I know my first response is not always an accurate reflection of my true feelings. When I give someone else time to speak, that allows them to rethink and say what they really mean.

It is a gift.

The consultant was not happy with me. He’s been working and creating all the systems we need at my new job. I just got there, and I was telling him to do it different.

I’d only just got there. He’d been keeping it together for months. So, when I sent a message relaying the new requirements I’d been given, he had a terse answer.

I had to call him to understand what he meant. When we were actually talking not just typing, the frustration came out. We had to hash it out.

Some things were said. Some things needed to be heard.

And we got there. I told him, “Please understand, I appreciate that you told me how you see this. I have learned, as long as we keep talking, we are still working towards a solution.”

To take a line from Oprah, this is something I know for sure.

My only hope to hang on to rescue is to stay in the conversation.

Hang on like I’m hanging on to a floating plank after a shipwreck.

I know I’m going to need all the help I can get to make it through this storm of life. If I’m in it with other people, we have to keep talking. I don’t’ know what hurts you if I don’t hear you say ‘ouch.’ I won’t know what is important to you if you don’t tell me.

That conversation means I have to say it. And I have to listen for it.

We have to be in it and stay in it.

Because our minds are so very creative, we can come up with a hundred ways to interpret what we hear. We have to let each other know if we’ve getting hot or ice cold on the interpretations.

Also, there has to be room to change course when things change. Lots of blocks can come in that require a new plan. That takes even more discussion and decision.

Me and my consultant had a tense conversation, but we stayed in it and got through. I feel confident that we built trust with one another that will help in future disagreements.

Our working relationship is stronger.

Conversations with family work the same way. It may be uncomfortable to share how things make me feel, but if I want to grow trust I have to stay in the conversation. Anything less is abandoning the people I love.

Pulling a mask over my feelings, stifling my voice means we are not in the game anymore.

I want to be heard. I want to hear you. I’m going to stay.