Lacy Telles

When I was younger and I thought about being a writer, I envisioned myself at my desk, with the sun streaming just so through my tall glass of orange juice, and a tree branch occasionally brushing against the window in a melodic fashion. I did not see myself as someone who needed a muse, wanted a muse, relied on a muse to inspire the flow of words. I would be my own muse, gosh darn it!, and I was proud of this plan. When I was younger, I dreamt of writing a novel that would grace the shelf of the local used bookstore, with a little sign proclaiming “Local girl makes it! Read her book!” or some such message. And maybe I would wear vintage hats, and hold salons like a blonde Dorothy Parker (though our physical appearance is so different, I am afraid our acerbity is not).
Twenty years later I am in a crowded coffee shop with bagel crumbs on my lips and I wear my hoodie to drown out the clacking and chattering and consumption around me. And I think about my retired muse. I remember confessing that I always saw myself as an independent writer (woman) who didn't need someone else (a partner) to inspire creation. I told her that it was a surprise to me that I found myself suddenly writing more after a weekend with her, that I found stories and words less reclusive when I would think about our relationship or our future. I sent her links to the Laura Marling videos, singing the word “muse” over and over. I gave her the title, capital M and all, and I was proud to disperse such a grand label. I typed away on my vintage typewriter, poetry (original) and poems (ee cummings and such) smudging away when I should have been writing my screenplay. I couldn't help it... I had a Muse!

Over the last two weeks my friends and clients have been asking if I have made any New Year's resolutions. I guess that is a standard go-to query directly after January first, and I wonder how many people proffer similar responses. How many people talk about diet and exercise, going to yoga, reading certain or more books, traveling, making more money, caring less about money, finding more alone time, being more social or less social depending on which way the pendulum swings. How many people make promises? To themselves, to each other? Or review promises from the years past?
Anyway, all this to say that I am not the type of girl to make New Year's resolutions. I am, however, the type of girl to make regular, non-holiday resolutions, though I call them goals. I am the type of girl who devises what she wants to do, get done, accomplish, and then I do it. I can attest that checking off the list is more satisfying than bandying around ideas with one another. Not to say that accountability isn't essential, because of course it is. And so what we should do as friends and sisters is to listen, to check in, to follow up and to follow through. Goals can be more readily achieved with the right support, the right encouragement. If you weren't able to get a fresh start at the first of the year, now is the time.
Oh, and as for my first New Year's Eve in NYC? It was not a letdown, as many threatened, but rather a super fun night out with a couple of my besties, some good music, some good looking people, and an open dance floor. I knew I loved this town.

The sermon from church yesterday really resonated. I know that's a very “churchy” thing to say, but the fact that I am still thinking about Brian's words and am wanting to look over my notes means it is a legit thing to say in these circumstances. And in this advent season, we are supposed to be focusing on preparing the way, our hearts, our lives, for what's to come.
So the fact remains, are you living a life of contentment, or are you living in fear? Contentment can have negative connotations, for sure, as in I feel that some are content with their own boxes of lives and have no desire to peek into the boxes around them, but in the spiritual sense, contentment is a fulfilled and lasting happiness, and is definitely something to seek.
Fear, however, is never mistaken as a good thing and it is such a strong word that I imagine most of us don't use it that often in a description of our daily life or our all around state of being. Yet the things that humans fear are the things that keep us from living a spiritually content life.
We fear not being needed.
We fear not having control, being powerless.
(I list these two first because they are the two I struggle with the most.)
We fear not being wanted.
We fear insignificance.
We fear defeat.
We fear shame.
We fear not having enough, or being enough.
These feelings are so real and so vivid in the our own lives and those of the people around us and sometimes I just don't know what to do about it.
Biblically we are given some practical instructions (some easier than others) such as:
Do not be greedy, do not hoard, do not be discontent, do not compare your things or your life or yourself with others around you, do not corrupt, do not manipulate, and stop complaining.

It's like this. The weekend before the hurricane, I watched friends and colleagues scramble in preparation. I don't mean that they were stocking up on water or batteries or candles (though some of them were responsible while others regretted not taking the prep more seriously), but rather they were scrolling through their little black book.
Ok, ok. Let's get serious. No-one I know actually carries around a literal black book. Why would they? The magic i-Phone allows one to enter a three line name (first, last, place I initially encountered the person or other defining trait, such as “Puerto Rican” or “chef”). I am pretty sure if you were to scroll through your contacts you might come across some random names that may take a minute or two to become familiar. Even when you are exceptionally descriptive (“skinny cyclist Art Bar Halloween”), it doesn't always register right away. This is New York, we encounter hundreds of people each week and it isn't easy keeping track.
Anyway. I digress. The thing is, many of my female friends found themselves anticipating the blackout as a potential romantic setting, and less of a burden or something to be feared. This is unsurprising, since movies and books alike romanticize blackness illuminated by faint candlelight, two bodies forced in closer to create warmth in the cold. And suddenly people were not required to work, or physically could not make it in to work, or found that their busy week now had gaps just waiting to be filled.