I’m doing this 5 minute writing challenge again…and again. Seems I’m sort of a fan of this weekly writing game, you think?
But somehow, in the midst of a Friday that included eating pizza and directing my husband making tutus (oh yes, you read that correctly) while drinking a beer, I lost track of Five Minute Friday, which is odd, because I love this challenge. And usually I keep up. Guess the tutus got me all mixed up, because here it is, a day late. Oh well, such is life some days.
So, a reminder in case you’ve missed it, here’s what this challenge is all about…or, in case maybe you want to play too, some time-
This is a weekly writing “game” from my bloggy friend Lisa-Jo Baker, who blogs (and writes heart-breakingly, beautiful words and stories) at http://lisajobaker.com/
So, here’s the challenge, should you accept it: you write for 5 minutes, free, like you have no fear or shame or no editor inside your head (both are hard for me)…and then you link up to her blog, and encourage the writer who links up before you. This last piece is crucial, as we need to encourage others.
Each week is a new word, a new thought starter, and you have 5 minutes to write….and are you ready? go-
My child knows the word “welcome” and lives it every day. She lives it daily, in all of the hugs she gives at least twice daily, coming and going to anyone (and everyone) including the parents and those who take care of her. I imagine, given the chance, she would even hug the UPS guy.
She lives the word welcome; it’s in her bones.
As a baby-almost-toddler, she learned how to sit by practicing in her purple chair over and over and over again; there wasn’t a day she didn’t practice learning how to sit. She’d fall over sometimes, perched on the arm of the chair incorrectly, laugh and then roll, but she would keep getting back up and trying to get into the chair perfectly. She did this same thing with walking, and also with talking. Certain phrases, on constant repeat in her crib, over and over again until she got the pronunciation, the inflection, down.
In a way, I wonder if this is how she came to welcome. Is this how she figured out how to make everyone feel warm and at home? To feel loved? Constant practice? Is it a skill, or is it innate?
And if so, then where did she learn it from? Did she learn it from me?
I am the last one to be comfortable with people, with open hearts, with the word welcome, especially. But, like her, I practice, I try. And most days, the overwhelmingly intense desire to connect over takes the need for perfection, for getting it right. And so many days, I fall over, I fall off the chair of the arm, of this connecting business, and hopefully, laugh when I mess it up, and try again.