Life is what happens when you’re making other plans…as that luscious songwriter of a man John Lennon once penned. I would concur with that sentiment, especially in this respect of my plan to write way more often than I do. I write tidbits here and there, single lines written on napkins and in books, on random receipts or stored in my head while I’m working in the hopes that I’ll remember them when I’m near a paper and pen next. If I wrote as often as I planned to, my life would have to be put on hold more often than it is. Because that is the way of life. It just happens, regardless of what I intend to be doing with it. Suddenly I find that months have gone by and I have lists of things I’d like to do, at some point, when I have the time. Not just the big things, like surf trips to Nicaragua or travelling through Eastern Europe on a motorcycle. Or learning how to drive a motorcycle, which would more easily facilitate a trip on one.
The small things just as much. Playing my fiddle more often, stretching and hula hooping, writing in my book, continuing the work on the rock opera I plan to be part of my extensive legacy to humanity in the future. Saving up to buy a piano. Saving up to buy a house. Big things and small things.

So I’ll start small. I’ll start here, tonight. If we concentrate on the small things we love in our daily habits, the big things might seem a little more accessible. In the hopes that when life happens, it will encompass those other plans I make. Which includes writing. Way more. About whatever, because that at least will mean that I’m writing.