Start Again — A Poem of Beginnings

Start Again

I said goodbye to my parting parents.
On they went after five days reconnected.
It’s old and familiar belonging.
It’s slowed time that heals.
And then the speed of postponed things returns.
Good things, yet this transition unsteadies.

But then I start again.

That phone call was jarring.
This time my dear son in deep struggle.
It’s old and familiar pain. 
I hope it can transform some day.
This isn’t a call that vanishes quickly. 
It, and the worry in me, bakes.

But then I start again.

That other jarring text. 
Of blame and hurtful assertions. 
It’s old and familiar narrowness.
It’s words that drip with exploiting judgement.
It’s ridiculously unfair. 
Punishing in tone.

But then I start again.

Start again.
In new day,

or in new hour, refreshed.
With kindness.
With clarity.
It’s what I know.

To start again.

You Can Start

I love a horizon. This one is part of the Oquirrh Mountains that border the west side of this high desert valley of northern Utah. I love the snow. The shadows. The light blue sky of an early morning.

I love a horizon for the way it beckons bigger view. And perspective. And often new starts.

Lately I’ve been in conversation with a few dear people about new starts. I found myself in these words of reflection and encouragement.

You Can Start

You can start.
Do that.

Sometimes the start is starting over.
Let that be as it may.

Sometimes the start is more of a refreshed renewal.
Do that too.

Life wants to flow through you.
You can start.


Grateful for a compelling horizon that encourages in such ways.

For Drifters

That’s the Oquirrh Mountain Range, as seen last weekend from my location in Salt Lake City. That’s Farnsworth Peak on the right, before the range drops off to The Great Salt Lake. That’s a lot of blue sky on a February morning in Utah.

For many years now I’ve been learning more deeply about such concepts as wander. And wonder. I’ve been learning more deeply about the nonlinear. And the unplanned. I’ve been learning about surprise. And delight. I’ve been learning about vibrant life available in the moment. The everything in the anything.

Yup. Pause. Big smile.

In my work with groups. I tend to point them to some of these capacities. I’m so often advocating and inviting a little more relationship with the mystery of it all. For the way that it opens new insights that change what we do and how we do it together.

Recently, such delights found way to a poem. At one level, it’s me truth-telling and claiming that part of myself that is drifter. It’s me coming to peace with that. And another level, it’s pronouncement or the very rounded life.


For Drifters

I will always be a drifter.

I’ll start things, many things.
I’ll finish some things, but won’t finish many.

I’ll get excited.
Yet sometimes, my excitement will wane, seemingly inexplicably.

I’ll be brilliant.
Yet sometimes, I may seem a bit lost, or even insecure.

Know that it is my drifting
that so often brings me to my steadiness.

Though drifting isn’t for everybody,
I want to surrender regularly to it’s beauty.

I will alway be a drifter.