It’s #FiveMinuteFriday free write time! <—click to tweet this!
Where a flash mob of folks spend five minutes all writing on the same topic and then share ’em over here.
And this week we’ve got ourselves a brand new linky tool – here’s hoping it behaves! Good news is, if you need to delete your link up because you linked the wrong pic or the wrong url or whatevs, now you can. Just click on the little “x” and poof, you get to start over.
New here, and want to know how Five Minute Friday got started? All the details are here.
And every week I’ll pick a post that caught my eye and share it down there in my side bar – see where it says “Featured Five Minute Friday”? Yea -that could be you!
Because, as we all know, the most important rule of Five Minute Friday is leaving an encouraging comment for the person who linked up before you. So getting to feature one of your fine posts is like frosting as far as I’m concerned.
So, set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on:::
And before I know it I’m head deep in the new year and already trying to catch my breath. So many hard kicks pushing for the surface. When Micah leans out over that diving board, toes curled around the end, whole body swaying, willing himself forward, I watch as only seconds later he cracks back through the surface, so much bobbing happiness there in the deep end.
But I can’t seem to break water.
Blurry goggles some days. Messy margins on others.
Learning to swim is always about learning to let go. To float. To grab and strain and flail is to drown. To lie back and let the water raise me to the surface. To let the ball go. To open myself up. To float.
So I exhale the crumbs and the stain on the carpet and the to-do lists. I breathe out the small irritations and breathe in deep gulps of Zoe’s hair after bath time. I am not the deadlines, or the wish list, or the expectations. These things are not me. I life preserver myself into moments of extreme living as I heft the rock my son sculpted, chopped, chipped, hammered into a jewelry rack for me and my lungs sting from all this fresh air.
This boy who broke the first box I ever owned. This boy who remade me.
This boy who teaches me how to dive.