January 3, 2014
Let your dreams soar in 2014!
The best selling children’s author Beatrix Potter once wrote, “There’s something delicious about writing those first few words of a story. You can never quite tell where they’ll take you.
Beginning a new year is like writing the first words of a story. You can never quite tell what will happen during the year.
As I reflect on 2013, many events occurred that I had not originally planned. I climbed down the Grand Canyon with my two children, Melissa and Nate, and advanced to the quarter-finals (the top 100 in general fiction) of the Amazon Novel Contest for my novel, Kookaburra’s Last Laugh. During the year, I became immersed in helping a Holocaust survivor, Yvonne Carson, write and publish her memoir, Silence and Secrets: A Jewish Woman’s Tale of Escape, Survival and Love in World War II. www.silenceandsecrets.com
An unexpected health issue with my oldest sister made me pause and reflect on the fragility of life and recognize that each moment offers us a precious gift. I have become more grateful for the simple pleasures in life with a stronger commitment to practice love on a daily basis.
As I consider my intentions for the upcoming year, I know there are unknown forces at work that I have no control over. I can, however, clarify where I wish to place my energy and move forward in that direction with a sense of curiosity about the unfolding journey, not knowing where it will take me.
As you consider your intentions for the upcoming year, let your dreams soar. To paraphrase Beatrix, there’s something delicious about starting the beginning of a year. Happy New Year!
Leonard




Many years ago, during a personal growth workshop, I participated in an experiential exercise. The facilitator of the group asked members to pair off with another person. To my horror, I was stuck with a woman who I considered the least desirable participant. Unkempt and reeking of tobacco and body odors, she related in an erratic, prickly way.


I sleep naked.
Yooo! Crash! Those sounds excited me when I was an 8-year-old boy living on the south side of Chicago. I’d rush to the alleyway in the back of the garage and watch the blue truck rumble past the 50-gallon metal drums filled with trash. Two men walking at the back of the truck would yell, “Yooo,” to signal the driver to stop. They’d then turn a can upside down onto a conveyor belt. CRASH! Garbage tumbled into the belly of the beast.




