I just started reading your book this morning. I’ve been reading it for years.
I just took an extraordinary professional development class with the Nova Scotia Sea School. In it, we learned some sailing. But more importantly, every day, we followed a pattern of daily life that was remarkably fulfilling.
In the morning, we jumped into the water. Everyone. Into the north Atlantic. It was better than coffee, though that was served too.
We practiced what we called the “outward turn.” A small open-deck sailing boat with ten people on it can get claustrophobic, so each day, we would take some time and turn our backs to each other and look out across the water. It was a reminder of the vast space around us, and when we turned back, we were more spacious, relaxed, refreshed.
How can you take an outward turn every day, no matter where you are? How can you regain a sense of spaciousness?
As a writer, what does the outward turn offer your writing?
Mist rising from the falls over moss, for example.
The blank page is both frightening and exhilarating. The first few words give the context for the entire world.