1/2 inch too long.

To begin unpacking the forty boxes in my studio this week, I needed to build a big honkin' bookcase.

After measuring the space where it would go, I determined that the shelves could be six feet long.
This was great!

I could buy boards that were exactly six feet and not have to cut them.

I would need to make cuts for the side pieces and one for the support, then I could throw this baby together.

I picked the perfect day to do it. Sunshine most of the day. Rain in late afternoon.

I started a little behind schedule, but would have no problem beating the rain.

Two thirds of the way through my project I realized that all the boards I had already nailed into place were a half inch longer than they were supposed to be.

The remaining boards were the right length, but now they wouldn't fit. I had to take the whole thing apart and shave a half inch off the longer boards.

It began to rain. I was so angry.

I actually yelled and shook my fists in the air.

Erin ran out to see what had happened. Attempting to bring levity to the situation she mimicked the 'toddler speak' we do with Finn. "David is really angry right now." 

I laughed...about an hour later.

I was so angry because everything had been going so smoothly. It felt like it was "meant to be." Now it was all falling apart.

As it turned out, the rain passed quickly. I was able to work at a more leisurely pace, finish the bookcase, and it was more enjoyable than trying to beat the rain.

It got me thinking about my belief that things go smoothly when they're "meant to be."

And how the unpleasant can lead to a more gratifying experience.

If I let it.

Moved and Inspired.

Sitting amongst moving boxes stacked seven high, I realize that promising to get this newsletter out tonight was being optimistic.

After a mildly chaotic week, I have vowed that this is my last DIY move.  

The soreness is otherworldly. 
And not due to the loading and unloading only.  

But rather to our non-complacent UNpacking. 

We like being settled quickly. Especially in a new inspiring place.

Our friend Suzy, remembering how quickly we settled into our New York apartment, emailed me yesterday, "Are you unpacked yet?"  

The boxes around me are in my studio/office space. The rest of the house is practically done. 

There is plenty to be enthusiastic about here: a yard, a national park nearby, an artsy community. 

But most of all, I'm excited about having the space to create again.  

When these boxes are cleared, there will be space to leave a half finished canvas sitting on an easel, and when I come back to complete it, there won't be a strawberry fingerprint on it. 

Not that I don't love the strawberry fingers.

But creative space is a close second.

Trust.

When someone mentions trust I rarely think of it in terms of trusting myself. And that's what came in to play today as we waited to receive the lease on our new place. 

We're moving back out of the city. 

(A friend commented upon hearing this: "I can't keep up with you guys!")

We have been casually looking for a rental house upstate over the last few months. Maybe a little too casually. 

Suddenly April was upon us and our lease is set to expire on the 30th.

"It always works out," was my mantra. But the more houses I saw, the more difficult it became to believe it. 

After a few too many Craig's List specials we were losing hope fast. "Cozy cottage" is a description I will forever be wary of.

Enter Sandy, the self proclaimed matchmaker of people and homes. I will elaborate in my blog later (after we've packed and unpacked), but suffice it to say, she is who she says she is. 

Coincidences happened. Things flowed. It felt right.
 
When things are flowing nicely, it's easy to trust. 

It's the spaces in between where I spin a million scenarios.

In that space we were waiting for the lease.

On a side note, it's never advisable to tell another Manhattan resident that you haven't actually signed the lease yet on your new place. Signing of the lease here is swift if not instantaneous, for fear of losing the apartment.

Spin, spin, spin....

I kept saying, "Trust yourself." I failed miserably.

Then we got the lease.

Lesson learned.  I hope.
 

Life in a one bedroom.

Every now and then, preparing orders becomes a comedy routine.

There aren't many places to go in a one bedroom apartment and when shipping materials come out, Finn transforms into Flash, the boy superhero in the movie, The Incredibles.

The packing tape dispenser is snatched from my hand when a millisecond earlier he was blissfully stacking legos clear across the room.

Then I start with the distractions. "I hear a firetruck!" I say. He runs to the window.

I fold a card and he's back again. I put it on top of a bookshelf.

"I need that!" he says. 

"Hey, where's your bulldozer?" I say, knowing it's in the stroller in the hallway.

He runs to his closet to look for it and I have a few more minutes. I spend them looking for the card I was just folding.

By the end I'm mad at myself for not managing my time better.

But if I'm honest, I kind of enjoy it.

I know he won't always be under my feet.
 

Wait, where am I?

Walking along Broadway on a not-too-chilly evening this weekend, I had one of those moments where for some reason the worries of the week fell away completely, and I felt an almost overwhelming sense of abundance, love, family, and friends.

In a wave of enormous gratitude I felt "everything is as it should be."

(I hadn't consumed chocolate for at least 20 hours so I know it wasn't a spike in blood sugar.)

The feeling stayed with me the whole evening until I went to bed. When I woke up, still in it the next morning, I thought for a moment, "Where am I?"

For years when I was touring, I would often wake up wondering where I was. This was clearly different.

Then one by one all of the little things I had been worrying about entered my thoughts again.

It occurred to me then that I really should be asking myself "where am I?" when I've left the present moment and my mind is stuck in worry. 

Alright.....this moment..... as I'm sitting in a coffee shop (not Starbucks) where I'm writing this, the song "Don't Worry, Be Happy" has begun playing.

Whoever put this music on obviously didn't get the memo that I'm writing a serious piece for a distinguished newsletter.  

What can I say? Sometimes the universe isn't so subtle.

Ride the wave.

Compartmentalizing areas of my life is a concept that I have always had trouble with. 
   
"It's just business."

"You've got to keep your personal and professional life separate." 

These are phrases I've often heard repeated.

Not only is that nearly impossible for me, but I'm also not convinced it's the most beneficial. 

A compartment is like a box.  It closes out possibilities. 

I'd rather picture areas of my life as waves that flow one into the other.

Work CAN be personal.  It can be hectic, meditative, challenging, fun, emotional, and productive.

Off time can be infused with inspiration to fuel work and still be relaxing.

Finn has no trouble with this concept.  Play ("work") flows effortlessly into snack and cuddle time.

I guess it's like surfing through life. 

Ride the wave.

People, possibilities and passion.

I have often longed for clarity in my life. Clarity of purpose, mainly.

I have assumed up until recently that one's purpose must be tied to one's vocation. As a result I've often felt that I was on a path toward certain uncertainty.

Outside the door of my printer's studio is one of those lists of things to do to be a successful artist. About halfway down is "Make friends with uncertainty."  

I achieve this for short periods... then we become enemies again.

I think it's more helpful to become BFFs with what is certain.
And I'm certain that I'm grateful. 

I'm grateful for the people in my life, the possibilities that get me out of bed in the morning, and the passion I give and receive from those two things.

I really didn't mean to come up with three P words, but it does kind of sum it up nicely. 

People, Possibilities, and Passion.

Remember the three Ps! You heard it here first!