Creative Life Midwife

Inspiring Artistic Rebirth

Bridges: It is never too late to learn the glory of the ordinary.

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One of my favorite bridges at Hart Park was my visual prompt of the day. 

It is the ordinary architecture, the everyday bridges we drive over and over and over again we will, in the end, remember with the most love.

Most of our tiny snippets of memory don’t get remembered. Like that morning so many years ago when I was overheard saying “I don’t like going nowhere and not even knowing where nowhere is.”

This is what I grumbled many years ago as several friends and I walked on some random street in New York City, desperately seeking an egg cream to drink.

I was a cranky, early twenty-something then – me without the wisdom that was to come later born from pain and angst and loss. 

I finished writing that sentence and I look up and over my laptop screen to see my neighbor of twenty five or so years is wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the word “Grateful.”  Earlier today I might have smirked until I started writing this brief essay.

If I were to die tomorrow and the newspaper reporter called her for comment, what would she say?

“Julie loves Tulip Magnolia trees. She was excited to see the Valentine’s present my husband Robert gave me and made a point to compliment me about it.”

The other memories we share are of different flavors: sour, scratchy, bitter, wistful and early on in our neighbor relationship, optimistic.

It is always the right time to build new bridges, to repair those that are less crumbly, the bridges that will get us from where we have been to where we want to be… or we just go back and forth and back and forth and both are brilliantly significant and well loved. Open your heart to remember the good – and craft the better from what might not have been so empowering before.

It isn’t too late to recognize the glory of the ordinary.

Julie JordanScott is the CreativeLifeMidwife. As a Creative Life Coach, Writer, Speaker and Artist-of-Life, Julie has been continuing to take people on virtual adventures during “These Uncertain Times of Covid 19” with her Coffee and Intentional Conversations and next with #Refresh2020

Starting July7 we will be hitting #Refresh2020. Click the graphic below to find out more and register.

https://creativelifemidwife.com/refresh2020

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Three Conversations on the Day After…..

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I had two conversations of note with two young men this morning. The first young man wondered if I had a hangover. “Only if you consider the day after an incredible day in nature feeling ridiculously good to be a hangover!

The second was a young man who was fundraising in a grocery store parking lot. “I just got out of jail,” he said and when I apologized for my lack of cash he said, “That’s what everyone says.”

Then I did what probably other people don’t.

I asked “What were you in for?”

“Assault,” he answered, coming closer so I could see the tattoo above his eye brow and feel more of the surly energy bouncing from his skin. “Oh, did they help you at all in there?”

“No, all I got was an assault charge. He hit me first!”

So there you have it. He was an honest guy, anyway, and he did call me ma’am, which shows me someone taught him respect and manners. At one time he was a newborn, in someone’s arms who probably didn’t think he would one day be asking for spare change in a grocery store parking lot.

“Good luck,” I told him. I meant it. I wish him well and thought about contrast. I thought about how easy it would be to get upset or angry or tumble into what a horrible place we live and why do we have such problems we didn’t used to have and then I remembered yesterday.

I spoke with these two gentlemen shortly after I made this video. Take a moment to watch it.

Now I am off to do the normal things normal adults do: chores, meals, planning for the week, finding and wearing my glasses instead of sitting here wondering where they are…

I will carry this blissed out feeling into other conversations and other experiences.  recognize there is a process to it as well, not entirely one thousand percent hooray over the top hooray and… I am remembering what it feels like to be something other than sad to middling back to sad. This in and of itself feels good. It feels good. 

https://creativelifemidwife.com/septpassionatewritingcircle/
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How to Use Journaling to Magnify Your Intentions & Affirm Your Strengths

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I am a gutsy and glorious writer, I am a gutsy and glorious human. I enjoy the uncovering of reality and authenticity and steer my jeep clear of the bullshit jungle that is all pervasive in the mindless world today, the world that doesn’t ask questions and is so numb it doesn’t even recognize injustice or question glitches in the system.

Yesterday something dramatic happened in the American political sphere. I don’t normally talk politics here, but because this intersects with my life, it is gutsy and glorious for me to share.

Yesterday a writer (anonymous, not entirely gutsy and glorious) wrote an op-ed piece for the New York times that gave voice to what many people gossiped about, talked about over the water cooler and discussed behind closed doors.

The elephant in the room, the stuff we hide in the attic or edit out of photos was out in the open.

I watched numerous commentators talking about this last night and one optimistic man said, “People are finally openly talking about this. It is on the table, finally. “What everyone has been talking about behind closed doors is now out in the open,” this is a good thing!”

Earlier this year I felt ashamed for not being open and public with some things I knew and standing up and saying “This is wrong,” openly has caused me much grief, loss of friends and added to my already lengthy gig of self-imposed exile.

I knew it was gutsy and it didn’t feel at all glorious.

I doubted myself, I loathed the situation, in addition to losing sleep and friends and any sense of comfort or safety even at times in my own home, I continued.

I continued.

I continued.

I have strengthened my boundaries and have returned to practices I used long ago. I have started weaving old faithful practices with new, enlightened practices.

I am a gutsy and glorious writer, I am a gutsy and glorious human.

In revisiting old notebooks and blog posts and poetry, I am reacquainting myself with who I once was and I am enjoying her company immensely. This affirmation, “I am gutsy and glorious” came from a blog post in 2003 where I shared the affirmation and a story about the then two-year-old Samuel waking up in tears at 4 a.m, and our loving moments that day, even amidst the reality of pre-dawn tears and Mommying that would rather happen in usual working hours.

I am a gutsy and glorious writer, I am a gutsy and glorious human.

In my art journal page I started to create this morning, I wrote, “I am a gutsy and glorious human” followed by a check list titled “evidenced by” – a brilliant marriage of past, present, and future me.

Art journal, writing notebook and my altered book all  in the transformational act

What will you affirm about yourself today?

My unique trick is to journal the affirmation in the evening before sleeping and then re-journal upon awakening. The night time journaling allows your brain to bring it into your day even before your day starts.

Your affirmative statement. “I am….” is like the person at the starting line saying, “Gentle people, start your engines!” I am gutsy and glorious – in the smallest’ humblest ways and in the over-the-top, silly, and the strategic, business building and the world transforming encouragement I offer others (including you.)

Please comment below with your statements of affirmation for today and tomorrow.

Let’s do this!

We are proud to announce our New Women’s Circle is open for registrations. The link below will take you there.    

https://creativelifemidwife.com/septpassionatewritingcircle/
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Why Didn’t Someone Tell Me Sooner? (Or Maybe Why Didn’t I Listen?)

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“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”  Joan Didion

I didn’t keep a notebook or a daily record of life until I was in my late thirties or even later.

I did. keep a notebook, briefly, during my first pregnancy.

I wrote my heart on the page and the last I remember seeing that notebook was after I read a passage at a support group meeting. I threw it across the room of the bedroom Emma is sleeping in right now. I wish I had picked it up and tucked it in a drawer so that I could honor that young woman who was so deeply sad and didn’t know if she would ever feel better.

I hadn’t thought of that in years.

I started writing daily in my notebook when I read “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron as many people did and still do after reading this life changing book. We get a firm directive from Cameron: three pages, daily, stream of consciousness, which serves as a comfort because we know exactly how to do “it” this journaling or free-flow writing “thing.”

I wish I had learned this secret sooner.

Why didn’t my freshman composition teacher require us to read Didion’s essay instead of what we read?

This morning I sat on my porch and wrote into my notebook in cursive, another dying practice, did my best to capture the essence of the day in as concrete yet flowing style as possible.

I don’t know that it worked. At least I tried. (My favorite four words for this chapter).

I re-read a poem I thought was brilliant yesterday and today seemed like little more than a shopping list of laundry supplies.

Who was I yesterday that I thought it was brilliant?

What is up that I am fussier today?

What made me happy on that night in 1981 in a dorm room in Stockton, California, with four other young women and only two whose names I remember?

One of the nameless I remember she was from Indonesia and as I wrote, her sister’s name, Esther, comes into my mind or maybe she is actually Esther. She had very unique eyes. The other girl, forever lost. She was in a special community program.

Mel hadn’t met Tom yet.

My guess is Jill took the photo.

I don’t need to fill in the missing meanings in the photo or surmise anything else. I only wish I had kept more notes.

I look at my notebook from fourteen months ago and in most of it, I have the barest of recollections. “I could easily find fault with myself and I may as well clear it away now.” What was I critiquing myself for in that sentence? I continue to read and I see I forgot to bring along writing materials on a particular outing which I also can’t remember. “tucked away, buried and today the aftertaste of regret lingers and I don’t mention it, figuring no one will understand so I delete junk from my email instead.”

Now we are getting somewhere.

My writing notebooks are as much about being heard by my best, most faithful audience, myself, and preparing for the best rest next thing from a clearer perpective.

My notebooks allow me to note, to question, to process, without having the need to weigh in with other people’s opinions which in the long run, hold a lot less credence than my own.

The photo here was less than ten years before I threw that notebook across the room in a moment of grief-laced fury.

It was ten years or more after that I picked up my pen and a cheap notebook from a big box store I started writing, daily, stream of consciousness, usually three pages, about nothing and everything and had companion notebooks for digging into the nooks and crannies and questions in between those early morning sessions giving the dumpster of my mind free reign.

I have no interest in making up the interim.

I have plentiful interest in refreshing what I have collected.

From that fourteen months ago notebook: “thoughts that flew through? Forgotten. Like the name Manzanar I can never seem to come up with on the first try. Forgotten, Lost. Fallen out my ear and floated overhead and tip-toed to the celing and through the cracks in the crown moulding. Insect thoughts. Beelzebub is what depression looks like.”

At the top of the next page, “I need to find my courage,” and with that I remember what I had forgotten.

Didion is right.

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.”

Julie JordanScott is a writer, a mother, a creative life coaching and a notebook keeper who loves watching people smile in satisfaction after a transformative writing session. She currently lives in Bakersfield as she completes her final editing for her most recent book. She is especially thrilled to be re-starting her writing and personal growth workshops. Follow her on social media (links above) and check out the upcoming writing circle before space and time are no longer. (Information and link may be found below.)

Passionate, Purposeful Women’s Writing Circle: a group of women devoted to their writing and each other for accountability, on-line community and movement forward to satisfying completion.

New Session starts September 26: register now to secure your space.

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Notebook Revisited: Sometimes I write poems in the third person that are about me.

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This September I am revisiting journal writing from the past to see what it has to say to me – and you – today. Tomorrow’s entry will include a reflection on Joan Didion’s famous essay about keeping a writing notebook, a practice I keep as well.

Below is a snippet from my journal in May, 2012. The simplicity, brevity and honesty ring true. then and now. The other irony is not much has changed. Oh – one note of preface. Sometimes I write poems in the third person that are about me.

Sometimes I write poems in the third person that are not about me.

Sometimes I write poetry in the first person that have nothing to do with me (I am trying on a new voice.) Sometimes I write confessional poetry in the first person.

This particular prose poem includes the she as me.

She made it seem like what she wanted was a Denny’s grand slam.

It appeared she was seeking pancakes, eggs, sausage and one other…. more likely than not unhealthy breakfast item.

That wasn’t it at all, though, to the careful observer would realize what she wanted was time, attention, affection.

Perhaps even to be thought of first, before anyone or anything else.

Perhaps that was too much to ask.

Perhaps her oft-recited self talk was right: she clearly didn’t deserve time, attention, affection.

She retreated into the darkness of silence.

Reminded herself asking for what she wanted was dangerous.

She didn’t turn any lights on as she changed into her familiar cotton nightgown.

The sheets, at least, welcomed her.

And next, five minutes today to reflect on the journal from six years ago to see what it has to teach me. This writing is stream of consciousness style which means no editing, no forethought, no planning. Typos are embraced, grammatical faux pas are part of the process.

I post raw and return, later.

Being heard and receiving a response to what I have spoken is something I value highly, right up there with showing up.

Showing up and listening and reflecting to me what you heard me say will earn you a life long friend.

I will go out for something as simple as a Denny’s breakfast special or a Starbucks cup of coffee or a walk around the block if I will be gifted conversation that feels significant an honoring.

Last week I went to a doctor who listened to me.

The third specialist I tried after two who obviously didn’t listen to what I said from their responses. They went to medical school to type into forms on a computer and barely make eye contact or connect at all with their patients.

This doctor listened, reflected and even made a different assessment than any other doctor has, perhaps a life altering assessment.

She wasn’t warm and fuzzy and I didn’t wish we could go out for dinner or become facebook friends or swap Instagram images but she listened to me.

Why is this extraordinary?

It ought not to be and it wouldn’t be if together we chose to listen to one another. Earlier today I was in a shop buying groceries. I had my eyes down and passed the clerk the payment and was ready to take the change, turn and leave without even thinking of the person making the exchange with me.

I lifted my face. I looked into his eyes and said, “Thank you. I hope the rest of your day goes well.” I waited until he responded to what I said and made sure he felt heard by my face, my eyes, my posture and my head, nodding in the affirmative.

It is so simple. Show up, look up, love one another by simply listening.

We are proud to announce our New Women’s Circle is open for registrations. The link below will take you there. 

https://creativelifemidwife.com/septpassionatewritingcircle/
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September: Revisiting the Notebook

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“The best thing to do when fear strikes is to stand with it, learn from it, then act from what you learn.” Now, let’s keep learning, together. 
Julie JordanScott in her journal: September 1, 2015 

Rewriting one's narrative is essential when we journal for healing. Creative Life Coach Julie JordanScott will write daily during January from earlier journal entries to continue the discovery process here, in this blog.

What I’ve learned from fear since that day three years ago is so rich and deep and varied and so much a continual process and practice, I recognize the value of sticking with this question and different aspects of it throughout this first week of the month of September, 2018. Longer if necessary.

We will assess and then choose different subjects to write about over these next thirty days of writing for five minutes a day, day in and day out. Now. for the nitty gritty.

Ironically, my theme in September is Intentional Abundance, like it was in September, 2000. I remember because this is right when I found out I was pregnant with Samuel and actually now that I peer over my left shoulder at the memory of who I was in August 2000 was a supremely brave person inside and out.

My actions were aligned with the bravado – and the bravery wasn’t exactly courageous it was – I see it now, a work-in-progress and part of that “act-as-if philosophy” more than anything else.

Three years ago I had dropped Emma off at the University she attended. I had woken up on Katherine’s dorm room floor at Princeton Theological Seminary, I had met my now son-in-law Donald and shared our first meal together. I had, before this day or maybe on this day, driven with a friend from Las Vegas to Bakersfield.

She and I are no longer friends and that took courage. Perhaps that was a turning point into true courage, to do what hurts and is horribly uncomfortable because it is the aligned action to take.

When I stand with fear and learn from it, I am in alignment with my life purpose. I know with grace and soul connection, no matter what happens, it will happen and I will respond.

I gave up saying trite phrases like “everything will be ok, don’t worry about it,” because that sounds so fake yet when one of my parent-club friends gave me the advice this week that said, “Chin up…” and keep moving, basically – that felt aligned to me.

What in the past might have brought a bristling response from me this week what I heard and translated from “Chin up” was, “You are tuned in. Instead of concerning myself with what feels sad or not-exactly-right.. well, those may be the facts just like the fact is – I aim to continue to walk, march, hobble sometimes and hopefully with a straighter spine and a more spritely step in the days to come – toward the end result I have hoped and prayed and gazed toward for far too long without making forward progress

It is not unlike my favored saying. Show up. Look up. Translate.

I have learned people do the best they can in the moment they are in. That includes me. I have learned forgiveness doesn’t mean stepping back into relationships though sometimes it can. I have learned what might look like the best circumstances aren’t and what looks pretty icky and wobbly may be the surprisingly perfect fit.

My timer didn’t sound, though my five minutes are more than up.

Please follow along in September as I revisit past journals and notebooks and continue my quest to rewrite one’s life narrative to lead a more compelling, creative and complete life filled with purpose, passion and play. (So sorry for the alliteration foul: sometimes with brain dumping or free flow writing, that sort of shows up. These posts will be largely unedited, first draft versions which I hope will help each and all of us recognize the power is in the “showing up” not the worry about whether or not something is absolutely “correct” or “incorrect” (whatever that means.)

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Daily Making Diaries: Four Months Until Katherine’s Birthday & Christmas!

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  • This post was written #5for5BrainDump style which means – it was written using stream of consciousness writing for 5 minutes. No editing or forethought of content. Images were added later. #5for5BrainDump writing is meant to be an exploration of personal growths and a mini a-ha incubator… a collector of insights and awarenesses written on purpose… for no purpose.

It was a divine call today, I hadn’t even thought of stopping at the park on my drive home. I thought I would stop at a parking garage and take some panorama shots of metro Bakersfield. It was an ugly-sky-morning and I thought that was what I was meant to capture.

I am focusing on daily making, a practice of daily creativity because I know in doing this – a determined crafting of something – it will positively impact my entrepreneurship. It activates different parts of my mind that have been lying, dormant, waiting for me to shake myself back into life.

I decided I would purposefully capture images not at my ultimate destination of the moment, instead to capture scenery along the way. Interesting how yesterday’s imagery informed today’s choices.

I felt led to a park instead of a parking garage.

I did a fair share of stretching and bending and posing which felt almost yogic which felt great and was a response to my slight whining while I was getting ready for bed, “I need to stretch my hips more, this is ridiculous” and even though this morning I didn’t have “stretch your hips” on the list, there I was, stretching my hips as I squatted to get this, and other photos, so that I might tell the story the imagery was calling me to tell.

Even writing this feels awfully intimate and not entirely safe.

Two seconds and my five minute writing session will be over.

The bells ring. I’m awake. I’ve been uncomfortable enough and thrilled enough this morning.

 

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Art Journaling Plus Writing Follow Up = Insights Galore

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Sometimes art journaling and art making lead to surprising word combinations I enjoy taking more deeply with journaling of the more conventional kind: free flow writing.

Look what happened here:

The phrase “compassionate punishment” has continued to sit with me. If we were sentient beings in the same room, compassionate punishment would be sitting in a fashionable knock-off of a mid-century modern arm chair and I would be here, in my writing corner recliner wondering how long it will take me to feel better this morning after a difficult night.

When I feel like this, I hear voices of the past, like these:

Blond woman at Moms Group at church or was it, perhaps Bible Study, “Sometimes you just have to get on with it,” when I spoke about depression and loneliness.

I translated that into “Don’t talk about your feelings here at church. People won’t like you. Stay away.” My compassionate self-punishment was to not engage vulnerably with that particular woman again. I found others people to interact with and chose to stay away from that with her even though I would be happy to see her again.

Speaking of staying away, I… lost whatever image I meant to portray here.

I lean back in my recliner and decide which portion of this brief writing to leave unspoken.

“Earth is forgiveness school” Anne Lamott’s words and memory continues to haunt me.

I typed those words and a sweet bird sits on the brand of the tree that lives in my yard. Hop up, hop down.

“Earth is forgiveness school.” The bird, a vision of grace, reminded me of the love surrounding me, always.

Most recently, someone who was once my friend said to me not once, not twice, “Are you happy now, Julie?” in another moment of time that is scorched into my head. It literally took me about an hour to figure out what she was talking about, but I knew immediately the intent was for me to feel ashamed.

This morning I spoke with a friend who described me as grouchy. “I am allowed to feel what I feel,” I told him. “plus I wouldn’t call authentic feelings grouchy.”

Thankfully investing an hour or so in constructive conversation was exactly the medicine I needed to feel better. I can see the sentient-being-compassionate-punishment armchair has fallen asleep for now.

All’s well.

= = = =

The next #5for5BrainDump session: always free with miraculous creative breakthroughs, has been scheduled! August 21 – August 25 we will be creating/journaling/writing along the themes of Starting Fresh: Your Creative Rebirth. To receive emails about the free session details as well as a weekly tips-and-tricks note from Julie, please sign up (yes, always free) here. 

 

 

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Let’s Nurture One Another Today

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I’m the stubborn non-walker

I think I was a nurturer in the womb.

I became a nurturer most definitely after my brother was born when I was not yet fourteen months old. I hadn’t elected to walk by then, waiting until I was sixteen months old to walk because I was so “nurture hungry.”

Perhaps this is part of the reason I don’t usually expect nurturing and yet I love it so much.

Last week at my story circle we “wrote” an improvisational piece about “our other mothers.” These are the people who take care of us, who may reach out to us when we need some tenderness or caring guidance. Each woman in the circle contributed one single line to the story.

I kicked it off saying. “Once upon a time, there was a middle aged woman who always felt comforted when someone covered her lovingly with a blanket.”

Such a simple act yet so heavenly.

So motherly.

So nurturing.

When care taking is offered and received with love, nurturing is a natural outpouring. It isn’t something we think about necessarily, it just happens.

When we become nurturers, we teach others to nurture us as well. It is like Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “That which we are, we shall teach, not voluntarily, but involuntarily.”

We show love and nurturing when we show up, when we notice, when we choose to put someone else’s needs at least as high as our own.

Nurturing is not a gender thing, it is an intentional love thing.

When I grade papers for students who haven’t yet mastered English, I focus on their strengths first before I critique their weaknesses. They are born with a different language and learn English as adults. I aim to nurture them into better speakers and readers and communicators. If I focused on what was wrong, I am concerned they would end their process prior to a positive completion. I choose to be a nurturer.

Nurturing isn’t only for people in “helping” professions, it is for all of us.

When I originally wrote this, Emma was preparing for her senior prom. It was the next weekend and she had the dress and the shoes. Next was the final prep including a plan for her hair and makeup. The Saturday before, a friend was at our house, helping her to get her make up just right. Some people might say this is over the top, that a seventeen-year-old girl should take care of it all herself.

I see it differently: making a fuss over her means I value her and want her to feel valued as well.

As a parent, nurturing a child’s sense of value and worth is one of the most important things we can do. How many adults do you know who don’t feel valued or esteemed? Ask your friends about their level of confidence. Their responses might surprise you.

As parents, nurturing goes beyond providing food, clothing and shelter. Nurturing includes compliments, redirection and teaching your child to make painful and important choices.

This morning I went to coffee at one of my favorite local haunts. The clerk told me I looked cheerful today. I though I looked warn out. My hair in a ponytail, wearing a t-shirt and capris, I didn’t think I looked like anything except my busy mommy role.

She took a moment to compliment me “You look chipper today!” and I took a moment to hear her and receive her words.

In doing so, we were both nurturing one another.

Nurturers make the world a better place.

Who have you nurtured today?

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Julie Jordan Scott inspires people to experience artistic rebirth via her programs, playshops, books, performances and simply being herself out in the world.  She is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy-extraordinaire and mixed media artist whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people’s creative lives. 

To contact Julie to schedule a Writing or Creative Life Coaching Session, call or text her at 661.444.2735.

Check out her social media channels, especially if you find the idea of a Word-Love Party bus particularly enticing.Facebooktwitterpinterest

False Fear of Abandonment & Truth: Love is Everywhere + Video & Writing Prompt

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You know those beliefs that are stuck so deep you don’t speak them ever for fear of… well, for me I suppose it is fear of amplifying that belief no matter how false I pray it is.

“If I don’t say it aloud then it can’t be true, right?”

Wrong. The reality is, if I don’t say it aloud it gains more and more power over me.

This morning I took on one of my primary, most primal fears that perhaps you share with me. After all, the majority of us have this fear hardwired into us. I replaced that belief with the simple affirmation. Love is everywhere. Love is everywhere. Love is everywhere.

Using the 5 minutes of magic that is #5for5BrainDump…. well, read further to see what came next.

The premise and not so happy prompt:

People will reject me: I don’t want to/I can’t survive being abandoned

I am so uncomfortable approaching this topic, I am going to use the phrase above repeatedly in my writing so if I veer off course with it (avoidance) I will plug it back in.

Here’s the thing: it isn’t true but for the majority of my life I have been acting as if is true and I have had enough of it. I know that you and I both have a purpose and a mission to fulfill and mine is anything BUT being afraid of being abandoned because I have learned… I won’t be… because over the years people I thought I could trust HAVE abandoned me yet I was never alone.

My mind is flashing back to a Davy and Goliath episode from long past, perhaps my favorite one because Davy was on a train and it was like the train was speaking to him, “God is everywhere, God is everywhere” and if the God word bothers you, plug in whatever you believe in instead.. perhaps “Love is everywhere, love is everywhere, love is everywhere” and in fact, beloveds, I might scoop up that mantra and carry it with me from now on.

Because I know above all, People will not reject me. I thrive when I recognize I am living according to the purpose I was born to fulfill. How invigorating this is for me and for you, too, because I believe we all have a purpose, a mission, a reason….

Perhaps part of mine is to tell you that talking about whatever it is you think is too scary to speak will take you along a path of extraordinary freedom.

Who thought when I started with “People will reject me: I don’t want to/I can’t survive being abandoned” that I would end with freedom?

My norm is to scoot off course when I write something that scares me but today was different. Maybe it is because I was holding my purpose in my heart and I was holding YOU in my words as they flowed from me.

The timer went off when I put the question mark on freedom. Affirmative, right? Yes. Because Love is Everywhere. I may open my heart and trust divine timing.

That feels so good. That feels so good….

Now, onto a prompt and a “What’s Next Mission”for you to consider, and write, and contemplate, and art journal or have a transformational conversation:

Tell about a time when you didn’t speak (or write, or journal or even think) about a particular sore subject. Remember what I’ve said here – and take a step toward giving freedom to that untalkaboutable so that you may shine in your unique, distinctive purpose.

Start with a sentence, just a sentence, and see if you are able to write for five minutes.

I’m available if you need me. Call or text me at 661.444.2735. If I don’t answer, leave a message and I will call you back. 

The world is waiting for your words. Let’s get them on the page, together.

Julie Jordan Scott inspires people to experience artistic rebirth via her programs, playshops, books, performances and simply being herself out in the world.  She is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy-extraordinaire and mixed-media artist  whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people’s creative lives. Watch for the announcement of new programs coming in soon!

To contact Julie to schedule a Writing or Creative Life Coaching Session, call or text her at 661.444.2735.

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