Let it go. Let it come to you.

Buddhism is a great tradition for me to have found, because it speaks so much of letting go.

I'm not the world's greatest letting go-er. In fact you could call me a teensy bit controlling.

I also love the way Buddhists talk about everything being 'an opportunity to practice'. It's another way to look at all the messy stuff - the things that piss us off, the ways in which we feel we're failing...

This morning I felt a bit panicky about my 100 Readers project [where I handed 10 copies of my next novel The Blue Handbag to 10 friends, who each handed their copy on to another friend, who will each...etc until I have 100 interviews].

I haven't had a completed interview from anyone for a couple of weeks. I started thinking I ought to be finding out who has the books, chasing people up...

And then I let go. They will come to me. I don't need to get my hands on these things so quickly. It's like telling the dough to hurry up and rise.

Whilst we're on the subject, here's a good article about letting go at Tricycle.

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PS Talking of bread, I pinched the whiskery bits from 2lbs of blackcurrants at the weekend and made 5 and a half jars of jam - labelled with my own coloured-in-with-felt-tip labels. This really is the life! Happy Monday x

Trying to enjoy what we got instead

This weekend I was looking forward to a particular walk along a particular river. I drove a considerable distance, through heavy traffic, and battled to find a parking space.

When I finally made it to the riverside, I found rather more water than I had expected. It wasn't just in the river, where it should be. It was covering the path - the very path I'd been looking forward to walking along.

I sulked for a bit. Not fair. After all this effort. Nothing going right for me at the moment. You know the kind of thing.

But then I made my way to a bench which had its feet under water, and put my legs up on the seat. I listened to the river gently lapping. I watched dog-walkers wading by in their wellies. I read about silence.

It's only after we've let go of what we think we wanted, that we can enjoy what we got instead.

Back to bed (as suggested by Raymond Carver)

I don't need to leave the house until 3pm today, and so I have decided to go back to bed. Unfortunately I don't have a tree bed (aren't they beautiful?) but mine will do.

I've brought tea (earl grey of course), A Book Of Silence, my laptop, a cat, this article about fear by Ezra Bayda, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, my journal, a view of the melting snow, and Bagpuss.

What more could anyone need?

If I'm not careful, I'll start feeling guilty. It's daytime, and a weekday. I'm not ill. If I waver, I'll read Carver's marvellous poem again.

What can you give yourself (give yourself over to) today?

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Rain

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

Raymond Carver