An Experiment in Choosing Curiosity
Dear Fellow Dreamer,
This is not a typical letter from me. It’s more of a placeholder, with a few gleanings, so you won’t think I’ve disappeared. I’ll explain why.
Last week when I sent you a poem, I didn’t mention I’d come down with the flu. That information didn’t fit. After scheduling the mailing, I did my usual “It’ll all be fine now”—only of course, the body is the body and must take the time it needs to recover. Over these past ten days, which were supposed to have been filled with planning and writing and setting the tone for the New Year, I couldn’t do much more than lie on the couch.
Ironically, my word for 2025 is Harmony. A wink from the universe? At the very least, I’m taking it as a reminder that in creation mythology, chaos opens the way to a new story. And the creative process often starts with a mess.
Unruly Beginnings
The last time I got sick over the holidays was during the transition from 2018 to ‘19. I remember lying in bed, picking up my journal, and scrawling dreams—the kind you have when you sleep, yes, but waking dreams, too. That fall, I’d launched and toured my first novel. During the same period, and throughout all of 2018, I’d coached a full roster of clients, taking short breaks to think about my next writing project, which I’d originally envisioned as a nonfiction book on healing.
During those final days of 2018, as I lay scribbling my thoughts, suddenly I knew I had to let go of my healing project and once again commit to writing a novel—a decision that healed me. Just knowing I’d made it lifted a weight I hadn’t fully realized I’d been carrying.
In 2019, I made preliminary drafts, sketching out about a hundred pages, while continuing to work with many coaching clients—a source of joy. But it was a bittersweet year, too. My father’s last. And so, when I scheduled research trips to Toronto, I took each opportunity to go to Stratford and be with him. My husband and I made a number of long drives to see him that year, each visit a thousand times worth it. I never did come up with a word for 2020, but it began with my father dying. Then I threw away most of my novel and started over.
Last spring, when River of Dreams found its publisher, I took a break from writing fiction. Yet in these recent days of shedding pounds from coughing, I realized I’m ready to write fiction again. It’s nice to know that in my little office, I’ve created a space for it—a basket for all the notes and scrappy drafts. There’s no rush. But I’ve begun.
Gaining that clarity has shifted things. It’s helped me put my current life in perspective so I can prioritize. But mostly, it’s caused me to feel hopeful and eager and inspired and—as a writer—on track.
A Precious Jewel
I love the study and application of transformative principles and practices. If you’ve ever worked with me in that capacity, then you know I begin each day in study. It’s part of what I teach. Coaching others in transformation is deeply satisfying, especially when witnessing clients gain clarity on their own dreams and action steps, and when, together, we see and celebrate concrete evidence of their visions coming into form.
However, I also know that sometimes, despite our plans and dreams, life can take us in new, unexpected directions. It’s part of the dance—remembering that no matter how consciously and actively we’re engaged in the creative process, we are partners with something vast.
In those moments when things seem to get turned around, I do my best to find peace in the mystery. And if I’m mindful (and trust me, I’m not perfect at this) I do my best to use a dream-builder’s essential tool.
Curiosity.
On the subject of things getting turned around and upside-down, in the play As You Like It, William Shakespeare gives us this:
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
When I came down with the flu on New Year’s Day, I felt sorry for myself a while—and irritated with myself, too, since it was such a small thing compared with real problems in our world. But then, I knew to shift my thinking. And I got curious and asked the big question. You know it. The one that can free us when we feel stuck, hard done by, or (she clears her throat) screwed. It’s a question born not only of necessity but of curiosity, both a surrender and a path forward.
What good can come of this?
Asking that question gave rise to another one. What would it be like to pull a letter together for you anyway? I mean, even if conditions were—and are—far less than optimal. What could I give you?
Inviting answers became a small experiment.
So, here’s a list. Think of it as a handful of unpolished beach stones. And if an area of your life has gone a little sideways lately, I hope you’ll make your own list. It can actually be fun.
A few good things about not having a plan, a schedule, or a newsletter draft, but having the flu instead:
· A conversion to handkerchiefs. Finally, I took my husband’s advice and used hankies over paper tissues—so much easier on the nose. I’m a changed woman. The bonus was discovering the faint laundry-soap fragrance still clinging to a couple of my aunt’s antique linen squares. A teary moment of connection. And the mystery of an embroidered letter “G.”
· Getting my abs in shape through coughing. (Kidding. And a ding for being repetitive.)
· Extra couch time with Poe. (Our black cat.)
· Enjoying the pumpkin spice-scented candle my daughter gave me for Christmas. For hours and hours.
· Having an excuse to not take the Christmas tree down. It’s pretty.
· Reading. My inner child loves it when my defences are down. On her own, she ordered a few of her favourites for revisiting, including Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. Reading chapters in one of Donald Maass’s works on fiction prompted me to get a copy of Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones. And I gave in and finally ordered an exquisite little book by Amina Cain that I’ve been wanting for my library—A Horse at Night: On Writing.
· Here’s what I’ve actually read (so far):
I love the intricacy in the construction of this novel. The multiple characters, settings (including a very recognizable Toronto), time periods, and storylines. So good! Emily St. John Mandel is a world builder who, with complexity and depth, manages to convey a sense of this life being an elaborate dream. It’s one of the most compelling works of speculative fiction I’ve read. And it couldn’t have been written quickly, which makes me smile.
Elizabeth Gilbert’s theme of choosing curiosity over fear was timely. I love her voice and zany, wondrous storytelling.
Here’s a passage (one of many) I value:
“Best of all… by saying that you delight in your work, you will draw inspiration near. Inspiration will be grateful to hear those words coming out of your mouth, because inspiration—like all of us—appreciates being appreciated. Inspiration will overhear your pleasure, and it will send ideas to your door as a reward for your enthusiasm and your loyalty.”
A healing tonic.
I was surprised by the evocative language in this novel, which sold me on giving Alix E. Harrow’s writing a try. I’m not yet done, but enjoying the journey which has prompted a return to collecting passages I like in a little notebook. Is it possible to fall in love with a writer for her similes? That leads me to the next item in this list…
· Collecting favourite passages in my writer’s notebook again. (It’s been months!)
Also…
· Finding a use for a special purple journal with my first initial. (Mine and Rebecca de Winter’s.) I received the notebook last year from Amy at Pigeon Post in the UK, who included it in a package of treats accompanying a 1962 Penguin edition of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. I’ve decided to use the notebook for a reading log, especially since not all the books I read (including poetry chapbooks) are listed on Goodreads.
And perhaps most important of all…
· The decision for a gentle January. Why not? And a gentle year, too. As you know, my word is Harmony.
And we can build dreams gently. In fact, that’s the best way to do it.
If you’re feeling inspired to work at your own pace on your personal vision in 2025, I recommend upgrading to my Wonders Within paid track. It gives you instant access to three talks I recorded last fall.
In these videos, I offer several foundational principles and tools that I use in my sessions with private coaching clients, where we apply them specifically to their current challenges and desires. If you’d welcome the uplift of gaining greater clarity this New Year, and would love to move forward aligned with your own sense of soul and vision, these presentations (with powerful exercises) are for you.
Due to my late start and harmonious intentions, I’m moving my video offering for paid subscribers to later in January. It’ll be the final one in an initial series of four talks on Vision. This time, we’ll look specifically at making 2025 a great year for you. More details, including the delivery date, will follow next week once I’ve had a chance to (yes, ahem) plan.
It’s really important to have fun while we’re here. This New Year, as I’m dreaming up Awakening Wonder, I’m asking myself a key question: What would I love?
I hope you’ll ask yourself that question, too. And if there’s something you’d love by means of my work as a writer, mentor, or coach, I hope you’ll let me know.
We are wonders and works in progress.
Thank you for being here.
Warmly,
Robin
