Miss Adventures

I’m not sure if it’s Murphy’s Law, destiny or a mishmash of the two, but my brainstorms insist on inconsistent consistency; stealthily clobbering me during two specifically inopportune times of the day. First, when I’m in the shower, with soap running down my face and nary a pen or pad in site; and secondly, those final moments immediately before I drift off to sleep. If I had worse self-control, I would spend most of my life filthy and sleep deprived.

Of course, if I suppress my inner muse, my reward is forgetting whatever the bestowment was altogether. It’s a catch 22. I might be clean and well rested, but the Gods of inventiveness prolong frowns on my Nazi-esque personal hygiene regimen and regular REM cycles.

If their scornful gaze wasn’t bad enough, should I ignore their call to action, they taunt me with a blinking cursor each time I try to summon my elite wordsmithing powers during normal working hours. Even my eccentricities are eccentric.

So, sometimes I have no choice but to give in. To let the vision fairies be my guide. The funny thing is that these pixies are also my guardian angels.

You might not know this about me but…in October of 2010, I left the high-paced, high-dollar world of real estate far behind to do what I love to do, which is write. In fact, I took my leap of faith off the precipice of doubt thanks to one of my mid-rinse bath time revelations.

When I jumped, I had it all. I landed myself I a book, an agent and a publishing deal. All was right with the world. All I had to do was finish it.

Then, somewhere along the way, I derailed myself. I stopped editing my book and I started writing columns for Yahoo instead --because that was a source of “right now” cash as opposed to waiting on not-yet-published book royalties, which were non-existent. I rode high on hog, featured on the front page several times over, gobbling up page views and raking in some serious coin because of it. Yet, the downside was that my MOG’s weren’t visiting me as much. I was showering solo. I was sleeping like an infant. I wasn’t keeping to my true north.

I wandered aimlessly through 2011. That year brought a consortium of folks into my life. Some of them were first-class, some were not so good, some were repeats from my past, but all came with lessons that lead me back to my beginning in the end. If not for them, I wouldn’t have found my way back to the path that I should have been on to begin with. In a way, I suppose they became a human embodiment of my MOG’s.

I am not a resolution maker. Frankly, I am a far more astute resolution breaker. However, what I am is a goal setter, and a damn good one. About a week ago, I listed my goals for 2012 --not resolutions, but goals. I have to reach them; I have a time limit. My goals (and my list) help make me stay true to my purpose, my true north. It was putting pen to paper that set me back on the straight and narrow…for keeps. Without this particular flock of folks in my life from 2011, I wouldn’t have made these goals, and I wouldn’t be back on track.

Since I reaffirmed my original plan, my MOG’s have been coming back. Except now they arrive faster, sharper and more coherently…sometimes not even in the shower. Nowadays my MOG’s have been kind enough to scintillate my synapses as I brush my teeth or clean my toilet bowl. And while I know that isn’t exactly opportune, it is a step up from the shower or from groggy midnight bedside chatter. If nothing else, the more frequent visits from my invisible friends are guideposts affirming that I am heading in the right direction once more.

With all that said, if I could impress anything upon you at all, it would be to follow your own MOG’s, your own voices of inspiration, your personal guardian angels, as often as you can. They have never lead me astray, they just visit when I least expect them...and I bet yours do too, if you’d just take a moment to listen more often in those quiet, peaceful moments when the smallest voice of your soul burns most bright.