I don’t remember ever falling into a Labor Day like this one. I have, without planning to, contemplated my labor all day.
While my work may be as simple as love, I can’t find a straight shot to getting it done. And sometimes it seems like every shot stretches my level of skill.
Today, I have paused, as I often do; but it feels different. It feels divinely orchestrated, which implies that my other pauses aren’t … and yet they are. I was born eager, but had to learn patience.
And today, I feel soulfully grateful for the fruit of my labor. It’s not like a book deal or popularity I can point to (or lose). I can’t show you the fruit, but I can feel it growing. It’s inside. And it’s mine.
Happy Labor Day!