“It's hard enough to give fearlessly, and it's even harder to receive fearlessly.

But within that exchange lies the hardest thing of all:

To ask. Without shame.

And to accept the help that people offer.

Not to force them.

Just to let them.”

― Amanda Palmer, The Art of Asking

Asking. Hands outstretched, palms up and open. Saying ‘here, I made this for you. Do you want it?’

More than anything else required for utilizing my creative calling to create both a living and a life – this, I
struggle with, deeply. Am I worthy? Will I be judged? Is this enough?

But this is also where there is opportunity for growth. It’s true; I don’t send you all emails like this. I mail
out my well-crafted blog posts, deep outpourings of heart and spirit. This is how it has almost always
been.

But not this time, this is me with just 30 minutes before I must trade my writer role in and take the role
of hockey mom. I certainly won’t have time for careful crafting or selection of words. I’m not even sure
I’ll have a chance for spell check before rushing to the rink.

This is just a raw letter from me to you. And yes, i am asking. And I avoided it until the very last minute –
because the asking – damn, it terrifies me.

***

The end of 2015 brought great change, great endings. A deep loss that brought with it the need to once
again rearrange the future to reflect the reality. A health scare that brought me face to face with
mortality and fear and a realization of my deep disconnect from my body. And a layoff.
A layoff from the job I never wanted but believed I needed to take. The one that was, for me a sign of
my failure to make it on my own, to do what others were doing and translate their creative calling into a
viable future. This was me, choosing safe and stable over the longings of my heart.

This job was, to me, a failure of spirit and purpose.

But this was reality. Me, a single mother, not making enough to pay the bills. My daughters, needing me
to be present, to step up, to do what was needed to make sure that our little family was safe.

And then, suddenly, my safe job was gone. One morning I made the drive to work as usual, and within
an hour I was driving home, in the midst of shock and fear and rejection and deep-rooted worry. It was
the week before Thanksgiving – how could I make sure we could be okay? How would I find another job
right before the holidays?

But it wasn’t until weeks later, reading Liz Gilbert’s Big Magic that I finally had to admit that I wouldn’t
be doing what everyone expected.

"You can clear our whatever obstacles are preventing you from living your most creative life, with the
simple understanding that whatever is bad for you is probably also bad for your work "

Liz Gilbert

And then, there it was. One of those blinding moments of clarity that delivers with it the beginnings of
all that is to come.

And I put down the book and lifted my head and I said out loud.

“I am 40 years old, dammit. And I know why I’m here.”

I know why I’m here.

I am here to write. To create. To follow the path to the words and to write my way into my own life. To
court the muse and call her home and honor the stories, the deep, burning stories. The ones we must
tell, or else not survive. To hold the space around you as you tell your own necessary, revolutionary
stories.

I know why I’m here.

And so, as quickly as that, I decided. I would not be updating my resume or searching for a job. I
wouldn’t need an interview outfit or a networking group or to figure out LinkedIn.

No. This was it. The chance I had asked for. The chance that I needed.

It was finally time – to answer the call.

It was time, finally time, to create. And who the hell knows if it will work this time. If i can bring
together my passion and my business savvy together and combine them with enough drive and hard
work and hustle to make this work, long-term. But i had to try.

Somewhere, through all of this – I had lost track of myself. And so I began with a list of questions that I
needed to answer, to write and remember my way back to myself. And those questions turned into
something deeper, they became the reason for this email.

They became the incentive for me to push myself into this uncomfortable, vulnerable space, the reason
I email you today.

That space I mentioned in the begging, where I stand here hands outstretched, palms up and open in
offering.
 ‘Here, I made this for you. Do you want it?’

Tomorrow I begin leading my first writing workshop in over two years. Gathered together are a
collection of souls full of depth and wonder and grace – holy, every last one.

I am humbled and honored and tingling, down to my toes. Because when you get brave enough to ask,
magic happens – every time.

For 30 days we will write alone and we will come together. We will answer the questions and travel
deeper into ourselves, and closer to our hearts, charting a course and crafting a map and writing our
way home.

This creation is, for me, both a step back into creative living – into a world where my calling creates the
base of my life and the solid ground from which my little family can rise.

Into a space where, then, the ability to ask is intrinsically linked to the ability for this creative life to
continue. For it is this asking which gives you the opportunity to say yes, to take a step back to yourself,
and to offer your support toward this new and yet eternal journey of mine.

We all lose ourselves along the way. And I believe, deeply, we all know the way back home.