Inspiration from Dr. Seuss

I got today's little morning reminder from last night's storytime with the boys. As I read this book out loud, I found myself so encouraged - I had to pause and laugh a little at the simplicity and blatant challenge of this message. 

You have a brain in your head. Use it however you see fit.
You have feet in your shoes. Now, go.

What I appreciate about his books: the way he lays it out there - no frills, no fuss. It brought me, even just for a moment, back to the basics of what truly drives me. Let's remind ourselves of what we have in our hands, what we're capable of, and then let's go to work. It's more than just dreaming about possibilities... we have to actually get moving.

Yesterday, I was frustrated at work with the fact my clients don't seem to read my reports. I put a lot (a LOT) of hours into them. It's what I do all day. Oftentimes, I'm sure the clients only skim them for graphs that tilt in the right direction. They don't get deep into the analysis like I do, and it disappoints me. It took a short phone call with my superior (sorta the Dr. Seuss of my workplace, if you will) - to identify the problem and find the solution: I need to get on the phone with as many clients as I can and go over the reports with them. Get their feedback. Learn what they want. Adjust their next report to make them happier. I can't complain about what I allow, so I'm not allowing reports to just slip under the radar anymore.

What are some things in your life that you can innovate, improve, or take on? If it makes you miserable, or is a source of frustration, it means there's room for improvement and it has your name all over it. You have brains in your head and feet in your shoes: make it happen.
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The Gift of Time

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of summer. Like most seasons, when the end is drawing near, I'm ready. But when it looms on the horizon - full of promise and unknown - I can hardly contain my excitement. Around September, I ache for the twinkle of Christmas lights; the crisp, cool air and the layers of scarves and pea coats and thick knit socks and worn in leather boots. Around February - right now - I can't stop thinking of sunshine. The early morning sunrises, the clear blue skies, the iced coffees and brightly colored trees, fresh in bloom. And even the rain. We get a lot of that around here. Around May, I'm ready for the 9pm sunsets and the screen doors and the smell of the BBQ when I walk in the door from work. I'm ready for sweet tea (because even though we're in the Northwest, I married into a Midwest family, and they know a thing or two about sweet tea) and skipping the gym for a run around the lake. And then, when summer's stretch has become expected, I'm dying for the leaves. The golden leaves, burnt orange and red, littering the ground and leaving the trees bare and cold. I'm ready for pumpkins, and salted caramel latte, and the familiar drone of football on the TV after church. In reflecting on this, one thing is for certain... I'm always ready. Always looking forward. Always grateful for the time I'm leaving behind - and always expectant of its welcome return. Time if a gift. Time marches on. Time, although never promised, is a constant presence in a world of steady change.