Impossible. There is too much to absorb, digest, translate, re-form into something good and relevant, and far too little time. Someone – Leonard Bernstein? referred to this as one of only two things needed to accomplish Great Things. But when, as my marvellous friend Maria puts it on Wednesday, “every minute of my time is accounted for from now until Monday at 10pm”, Bernstein does not comfort, despite my really good plan. So thank you Annie Lamott, for your timely, perfect, pithy truth. I have read and received it from three disparate sources these past three days, and now the angels of safe containment and healthy boundary are here (I called them) to guard the perimeter while deep focus reigns supreme within; it’s buckle-down time. To tell a good story well, and thoroughly – a living, breathing story, this is necessary. Necessary to trust that though all hell may be breaking loose out there beyond the perimeter, this story is relevant, it needs to be told. Necessary to filter out the hooks and pulls, the triggers and the waverings, and make use of the fine fine sieve that lets in only the heart of things. The heart of things, that resonates with everything and everyone you love, that threads and connects this good story back to their good, strong hearts. Resonates and strengthens, if the story is told well. A heart breaks; snow falls steady onto five inches of itself. A woman drives slowly through zero visibility; a cat eats the head of its kill. Wildfire claims someone’s beloved farm; blame is released like a sigh, back into love. Tears fall in shock; another paragraph is written. Someone wanders, lost; the kettle boils for tea. The Heart of things. Humility meets courage; another page is printed. The Heart of things. Impossible.