The other day a friend asked me how long I have been composing daily vignettes. 

 

"Fourteen years." 

 

Then came the incredulity, and laughter about her attempts to follow through on some of her own endeavors. She asked about the process itself. 

 

"Well, some mornings I already have an idea. Perhaps I heard a pithy comment the day before, or felt a moment of serendipity ripe with meaning. Then it is easy to start clicking, and follow where the events lead. But other times I sit with a laptop, take a breath, and step into the belief that there is a story to be found." 

 

It turns out that there is. 

 

Curiosity is as much of a magic key as any spell for opening a cave full of treasure. I am trying to put that inquiry in my pocket, and carry it with me into those situations where I see a wall and give up. I fall for the illusion that this day is like every other, a leaf in a yard of identical foliage. 

 

When I hear someone bragging, my reflex is to assume that they feel superior. The wall between us stays closed. But if I am able to consider the possibility that they are covering up a sense of failure, or inadequacy, the barrier lifts. Vulnerability pulls me in, while bravado sends me in the other direction. 

 

Another time I might do well to step into the belief that there is a story waiting for me, is when I paste an old label on someone. 

 

"Of course they said that. They are always negative." 

 

Yet, what if I could be curious instead? What would happen if I did not succumb to the party line, and wondered? Maybe I could commit to the possibility every day for fourteen years.