The other day, my son wrote this story (it’s either a tragedy or slapstick comedy, not sure which.) It felt like some sort of milestone — the first “voluntary” story he wrote, completely initiated and executed by him. He worked so hard on it, asking his dad and me how to spell various words over the course of an evening and working very carefully on forming his letters. And he was so proud, asking us to read it over and over to him and revelling over the finished product. The next morning, he rolled it up into a neat little scroll and presented it to his teacher. (Or at least that was his intent. It’s not clear if the scroll ever made it out of the bottom of his backpack!)
I’m not sure if this project felt momentous to me because I have a special affinity for words and stories. Maybe it was because my son hasn’t historically logged tons of time drawing/writing/painting. Perhaps I felt a connection with my recent project launching a career and leadership coaching practice. Whatever it was, I felt like I witnessed something special, intimate and human: that creative process of taking a vision in our heads and shaping and anchoring it in the world, to see and to share.
How about you? When did you last make roast duck?
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