Dear Michigan (In Between There Are Doors),

William Blake is often quoted to have said: "in the universe, there are things that are known and things that are unknown, and in between there are doors." As interesting as Blake the poet, the artist, and the, perhaps, misunderstood man might be to discuss, it’s the quote itself that I find relevant. Let’s face it, the universe is a pretty big place. Yet somehow in all that vastness and in the expanse of time, as well, Q and I crossed paths in such a way that has brought us to this moment and to my writing about it. One of the things I know is that I love her very much and I want to be there with her (and, thus, Michigan, with you), to be able to simply look up at some point in the day, while doing some routine thing, and see her there. To know, at the end of the day, I’ll see that smile, hold her hand maybe for awhile, kiss her softly as I look into her eyes and tell her how I feel. Two of the many unknowns are how and when I’ll be able to do just that. But, as Blake suggests, it’s those in-between moments that offer myriad possibilities. And for every door we’re aware of, there seem an infinite number of which we remain unawares.

When I originally sat down to write about Blake's quote and about this topic, I started out writing about how, not too long ago, Q and I discovered one such door and, as often is the case, it turned out to be an unexpected surprise. I started writing about Cleveland and how it offered us a rendezvous that had a few benefits, the biggest of which was time. It took each of us about four hours to get there (that's four to five hours less than it takes me to get to her house) which meant we actually had a few hours on a Friday evening after work to spend together, unlike this coming weekend when I’ll drive out to see you and her and get there sometime around 2:00am. Cleveland was nice because we had the chance to have a nice dinner together in our room and to chat and to snuggle up close before going to bed. And it’s a pretty city with a excellent museum and some nice restaurants. But it isn’t you! Until I’m out there fulltime, I’m trying to find as many doors as possible, as many ways to spend time with the woman I love. And when I started out writing this post, I thought that was what I was writing about, all these different ways I might make time to be with her. Like this past weekend, we met in NYC. Q brought two of the mice with her and her niece (three wonderful kids). We did all the touristy stuff and I for one had an awesome time showing them around. But it wasn’t like it is when we’re with you.

Yes, in Cleveland, we were able to view some exceptional art. And one of the best things about being in a museum with Q (any museum) is this – not only do I get to appreciate brilliance, to look at paintings and sculptures, all the while being close to her, channeling it seems this intense emotional connection, but I also get to step back, every now and then, and watch her as she studies the art, the way she lingers at times over a piece, her wonder and happiness as palpable and as beautiful as any framed exhibit. And just watching her with the mice in The Village this past weekend was breathtaking. The way she is with them, the way her happiness truly starts with them, it's very special. Holding her hand as we walked through Central Park, pulling her close while we watched the musical, it all felt so good. But holding her hand and pulling her close anywhere feels good, especially in Michigan! And, at the end of the day, those other doors close. They’re just temporary. It’s like I get to step into all these cool doorways, but I never get all the way into the house before I have to go. Q picked up on that before I did. She doesn’t see those get-togethers as doors, so much, but I still do. They're just a different kind of door (not the get-me-all-the-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind of door, but the get-me-through-the-week-something-to-look-forward-to-until-I-make-my-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind), one that offers me the opportunity to be with her, which I’m certainly going to take advantage of every chance I get.

But this blog is about you. And, like I said before, what I want most is to be out there with you. So the doors I'm looking for most are all the things I can do to make that happen. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized maybe this blog is one of those doors. It allows me the chance to be with her, as I recall what we did. I admit that’s difficult at times simply because it makes me miss her even more (which I didn’t think was possible), but it also affords me the opportunity to relive so many special moments. And that makes it wonderful as well!

I set out to write these love letters to you to let you know how I feel, but I'd also love to hear what other people love about you. And if there's a special somewhere anyone would like me to devote a posting to, maybe they'll let me know. I intend to write about Traverse City and about Black Star Farms in upcoming posts. I also hope to work another poem in there, but I welcome any suggestions and any feedback. I'm driving out to see you this weekend, so chances are I'll have some new experience to write about from the trip. All I know is I can't wait to see you and I can't wait to see Q's smile and to wrap my arms around her and to squeeze. I just can't wait. In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep finding and making as many doors as possible because one of those doors will eventually lead me right to you.

*Top image - Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926). The Red Kerchief: Portrait of Mrs. Monet, c. 1868-1870. Oil on canvas; 99 x 79.8 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of Leonard C. Hanna, Jr. 1958.39

**Bottom photo courtesy Christopher Kierkus

Dear Michigan (How Do I Find A Job?)

I miss you so. I know it doesn’t really help, my saying that. It certainly doesn’t change anything. But it’s the feeling I have welling up inside me and I want, no I need to share that with you.

As much as this blog is a love letter to you, as much as it’s about expressing how I feel, letting you know all the things I love about you (the people, places, things to see and to do), and about Q, it’s also about my attempt to find a way to get to you, and so I need to address the job search too. I’m pretty sure that won’t be as fun to write about, nor will it seem in any way romantic, but it’s certainly something to which many people can relate. And it is the key, it seems, to my being in the one place on the planet I truly want to be. With you!

About a year ago, the Grand Rapids Press ran an article on the jobless state of Michigan and the statistics were/are staggering - “This is life in a state with the highest jobless rate in the nation, where 449,000 people are out of work.” I feel the need to mention that I’m not trying to take someone else’s job. I’m not someone who can’t find employment in New York so he’s looking elsewhere. I have a job and if I could continue it from home or if I could somehow bring it with me, I would. But I can’t. And as nice as the people I work with are, and as nice as the area here might be, they’re not you. Not in any way, shape, or form. Not even close!

According to another article published in The Detroit News last year, the trend for nearly a decade is that more people have moved out of Michigan than moved in (about 109,000 more in 2008 alone, which for comparison sake is more than the population of the US Virgin Islands and nearly the population of Ann Arbor). I want to be with you because I see what you have to offer, not just to me, but to everyone. And if I can somehow find a job that allows me to show people just how special you are, that’s what I want to do. But in order for that to happen, I have to go through the process and, let’s face it, the process leaves a lot to be desired. Most employers want you to apply online these days, which saves on paper and is better for the environment, so I applaud them for that as loudly as I can. Now, if we could just develop a more economical use of time that would be even better.

Applying for a job is a full-time job. First you have to do some research. There’s not much sense in just sending out your resume everywhere, especially since it takes about an hour to work your way through many of those online applications. You know the ones that ask for every detail of your education and job history, the same information that’s on your resume. There may just be more job search engines than there are jobs. Half of them list the same job, require you to fill out all the pertinent information that the employers are going to ask, only after you fill that out you’re shipped off to another location (hopefully not like in one of those big wooden cargo boxes you see in movies about museums and precious artifacts that end up stored in the back of a warehouse somewhere). Once you get to that location, you fill out that pertinent information all over again, in addition to having the option of providing a cover letter and resume. This doesn’t count the research you really should do in the first place to try to match yourself up with the best fit. Of course, usually even the best fit doesn’t fit exactly. It’s like trying on jeans at the Gap – they either fit in the waist, but are baggy in the backyard or they’re low-rise-just-below-the-hip-fall-down-every-other-step jeans or they fit everywhere except the thighs (and if your thighs don’t fit you won't be wearing jeans).

Some employers look for specific education, some for specific experience. And, out of curiosity, where do they come up with 7 years experience? I mean why not 6 or 8, why not 5-10? Did they do a study that shows people with 7 years experience know enough to be self-directed and yet are still somewhat malleable? I’m not complaining. Just relaying a truth (and being a bit more sarcastic than I should be, perhaps). I do think if you aren’t going to put in the time to research and to apply and to do all the requisite steps to find yourself the best job for you then what sort of job are you going to do for them? And I'm lucky. I have a computer. But what if you don’t have a computer? What if you have to go to the library to get online to apply and then spend a few hours searching, looking at each job’s responsibilities and requirements, at least one hour filling out the application, to apply for one job? But here’s the thing, Michigan, you’re worth it. Every second of it! No question! Because working with such a beautiful state, working for a state that has so much to offer (okay, and the fact that it allows me to be with her), that’s what I want more than anything.

Here are some Web sites that might be helpful if you’re looking for a job too (just note that some search engines charge while others are free and, since there are so many, picking the right one or using several might be best). Good luck!

* About.Com's Top 10 Job Search Engines
* PC Mag's Top 20 Job Search Engines
* 12 Tips from Huffington Post on landing a job.
It's as much about selling yourself to yourself as it is to a potential employer (when I say "selling yourself" I mean metaphorically speaking, of course).
* Interview Tips
* Tips on Getting the Job You Want
* Tips on Getting a Job "When No One Wants You"
* Job Application & Interview Questions

image above via Detroit Institute of Arts: painting titled "The Harvest" – oil on canvas by Leon Augustin Lhermitte , late 19th/early 20th Century

Dear Michigan (Let Me Count the Ways),

“I imagine,” said Q, “that most of the women who follow the blog will think you’re romantic. You are. And I'm lucky because it's one thing many women wish they had more of in their lives. You should write about where that comes from. . . . Maybe write about why it matters.”

I’m not sure that you’ll be interested, Michigan, in an entire posting on the concept of romance. And I’m not sure I’m the person to delve into that topic, but I told Q that I’d try to write about how you make being romantic easier. She said, “Really? I think it makes it hard. You haven’t found a job here. And I want you here. And you feel so far away.” I was quiet then. That is extremely hard. But I’ll try to explain my thoughts as best I can.

In the movie, Avatar, the indigenous people have a saying to show reverence for another life (be it the natural world around them or each other). “I see you!” they say. The phrase doesn’t just mean you’re in my line of sight. It means, I see you, inside you, all of you. I see the world through you. I paraphrase poorly, but I think that’s the essence of romance. It’s seeing the other person for who she is and then letting her know in some way. It’s feeling something and then expressing that feeling. And, in a way, that’s what this blog is all about: I’m letting you know that I see you, Michigan. But I’ve come to see you because I see her and it would be disingenuous if I pretended otherwise.

Sometimes the most romantic moments are the ones you find in places that are less about more-more-more. Places with small town charm and character. Places like Kerrytown.

On one of my recent visits, Q picked me up at the airport. It was a Friday and the kids were spending the weekend with their dad. As an aside, Q’s kids are funny, creative, and big-hearted just like their mom. It’s really special to watch them all interact. Around 5:30pm, Q suggested we take a drive into Ann Arbor to get dinner. There’s this restaurant, she said, where she and a friend of hers had enjoyed “the best martini ever.” I’m not typically a martini drinker, but I think I just discovered my new favorite adult beverage that isn’t wine. We parked in a small lot on a brick-paved street and walked to eve, a small restaurant in Kerrytown. We didn’t have reservations and it was Friday night, but the hostess was nice and told us the only seats available were the tables outside. It was a beautiful day and we were thrilled to sit outside. We started off with one of those ginger martinis and it wasn’t long before we were immersed in conversation. That’s another one of the things about Q that I love. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we start talking about, we always seem to find our way into these wonderful conversations (not the all-about-me sort, but the all about everything we find interesting sort). We eventually ordered our meal which was spot on. The sun was shining. There was a slight breeze. People started to gather outside. The food and the drink were delicious. But the highlight for me was just being there with Q. Over five hundred miles had been reduced to inches. We laughed and laughed. And there was that smile. It’s the sort of thing that fills you when you see it. The entire experience was romantic for me and hopefully for her as well. I know some people get in the habit of going out for drinks every weekend, yet it’s not romantic. It’s not about the connection as much as it is the habit of going out. And romance is about the connection. It’s about feeling something and sharing it. At least it is for me.

And romance isn’t always easy, not with our lives being so cluttered. But think about how many times we get all caught up in the sundry responsibilities we have during any given day – getting kids ready for school or getting ready for work or making dinner or cleaning or mowing the lawn or finally taking a break at the end of a long day and sitting down to watch your favorite show or to read the latest greatest book. Think about how many times the person you love is there and you don’t stop, actually stop, and say, “I see you!” That’s what’s romantic to me, seeing the other person, noticing her, all of her: the frustrations as well as the joy, the sadness as well as the inexplicable happiness, and the myriad traits that make her truly beautiful – like how she’s curious about everything, how she gets excited and passionate when she learns something new, how she cares deeply about her family and her friends and how she puts her kids first, how she’s funny without trying to be funny, and how she’s smart (I’m fascinated by the way her mind works), yet unassuming.

I think we’re conditioned to some degree to romanticize and I think that’s part of the reason so many relationships fail. Like I mentioned before, we often start a relationship with the glass slipper in our hands and we try (often without realizing that we’re trying) to make people fit that damn slipper. That’s one of the most rewarding and exciting things about being with Q. We met years ago and the furthest thing from either of our minds for the longest time was any romantic idea about each other. But then it happened, all on its own. When it’s the right person, the slipper that fits that person is the right slipper. Not the other way around.

This blog is my attempt to tell you, Michigan, how I feel about you and what I think about you and how I want more than anything to be out there with you. But if I’m reading a blog like that my first question is, why? And that’s the reason behind the last post in particular, because I want you to know Michigan that this isn’t some hasty decision, that it’s not blind impetuousness brought on by limerence or infatuation. It's about me being in love with someone who lives 8 1/2 hours away and wanting to move there to be with her. But I wanted you to know what it is I love about her so you could nod your head (so to speak) and say, "okay, I get it. You do genuinely want to be here and with good reason." And so you'd know why it is I love you.

It's like that feeling you get when you've been working all year long and you finally get away for a few days and you go to the beach and you sit there and the warmth of the sun is on you, but it's not too hot because there's this breeze rolling over your body and every few seconds the water covers your ankles and you hear the gulls and the waves and it's like every part of your body sort of settles down a bit, sort of eases into itself, and you take a deep breath and let it out and your lungs feel a little freer, like that breath came a little easier, went a little deeper, and all of you fills up just a little more with the good feeling of being there. That's what it's like when I'm with her, just doing everyday things like going for a walk or making dinner. Maybe she's cutting veggies for the salad and I bump up against her as I reach for a knife I don’t really need and it just feels so good to be close to her.

And I know you might wonder, Michigan, but what if? Well, I don’t like to think that way. One thing I’ve learned the hard way is that all I can do is be the best me possible, right here, right now, for me. And only when you’re true to yourself can you truly give yourself to the other person. I can’t control how other people feel or what they think about me. And I certainly can’t control the future. All I know is somehow I met someone who is quite simply the best friend in the history of me. That, in and of itself, is extraordinary. But she’s also the woman with whom I’ve fallen deeply in love. I’m not the sixteen-year-old who steals his dad’s house paint from the garage and writes a love poem in the street outside her window at midnight so she sees it when she wakes up in order to woo her. That’s not what this blog is about. If something happens down the road, I’ll be heart-broken. No question about it! But not because I wrote about how I feel in some blog. I already feel that way! Sharing those feelings with her or with anyone else doesn’t make me any more vulnerable. But it might let her and it might let you know how I feel. And maybe that means something.

The hardest part about writing this blog isn’t putting my feelings out there – after all, I feel this way about Q regardless of who knows it. And I try to let her know how I feel. The hardest part about this blog might just be that after writing it and revising it, I’ve spent hours with it and that just makes the ache inside me from missing her even more intense. It just makes me even more aware of how much I miss you!

Dear Michigan (Let Me Tell You Something),

So, I imagine you might be wondering what exactly I see in her, this enigmatic woman I love (and for the sake of identification, let’s call her Q). After all, each time I write to you, I’m really writing to her. It’s only fair that I let you know a little about her and about how I haven’t been bewitched or enchanted by some spell. That’s one of the most exciting aspects about this thing called love when it comes slow from seed and grows from the roots up, blossoms of its own volition, before you even realize perhaps what it is (not because you’ve taken any of it for granted, but because you didn’t even know that particular seed had been planted). I saw a photograph once of this rare wild orchid growing all vibrant and colorful in the middle of a swamp, not from where you might expect a flower to grow, but halfway up a bent tree, in the crook of its shoulders. Not another orchid for miles and miles. Exactly how that happened could probably be traced back, could be scientifically explained. But the act itself, that unexpected bloom was, in a way, quite magical. That’s what I’ve found with her. And each time I see her smile I feel that bloom inside me, each time my fingers find their way to hers, each time we kiss, each time we share our thoughts (and we have so many thoughts about so many things, so many ways we want to breathe life back into you, Michigan, one breath at a time).

We met in grad school. It wasn’t love at first sight, although I have to say, she is stunning. We passed each other several times a day, exchanged our brief hellos, but circumstances had us on our own journeys. Never once did either of us think those journeys were really just two parts of one longer journey. It’s not much different, I suppose, than this thing between you and me. I spent a few days driving from New York to Wyoming on my way to an artist’s residency, drove along your border, but I didn’t realize then how strongly I’d one day feel about you. Isn’t that part of the beauty, though, of living, the fact that, just like Robert Frost said it would, we take whatever path we take and in the end it makes all the difference? We often end up somewhere we never intended, somewhere we maybe never even knew existed. And sometimes what we discover along the way is a part of us we never even knew existed, a part we may have never allowed ourselves to know. And that’s another wonderful thing about love. We sometimes form this image of what it is and we spend our lives trying to match up each new relationship to that image (we’re taught, after all, to find the foot that fits the slipper). Truth is, when it happens on its own, when you’re not really looking for it, you give yourself a chance to just be and you give that other person a chance to just be, and what you find is that the image you had of love doesn’t even begin to compare with the real thing.

She’s a poet. And one of the most brilliant people I know. We talk about everything and I can’t even begin to describe how exciting that is. How, no matter what we start talking about, we always find ourselves going somewhere profound. Yet, she’s funny too. We laugh and we laugh and she completely embraces the dork in me because she’s got a dorky side too. But isn’t that the way you are: beauty and brains, strength and sweetness, a little awkward at times, but able to laugh at yourself, to realize there’s nothing to be embarrassed about when you’re with someone who truly loves you? Did I mention she’s the most remarkable mom? Yeah, she is. And, if you ask me, that’s sexy! The way she encourages her kids to be adventurous, the way she fosters creativity and love, the way their happiness is the source of her deepest joy.

When I first sat down, tried to write about her, what I came up with was a list of superlatives. But like you, Michigan, she’s much more complex than that – like your best wines, there’s an earthiness to her, a naturalness that isn’t intoxicating so much as it is undeniably delicious. And maybe the best thing about her is that since day one she’s been herself with me. And, at first, you might think that’s because when we met we were on what seemed like different paths, but every day I’m with her, every day I’m with you, I realize that’s just the way you are, both of you, unabashedly, unashamedly, unequivocally you. And, as I wrote before, that might just be the greatest gift, that genuineness, because it invites the same, it encourages us to just be us. Only then can we truly fall in love.

Next week, Michigan, I want to write about you, about Ann Arbor, about Black Star Farms up north, about searching for a job, about so many things. I want to tell her what I see in you. But I thought maybe you needed to know a little more about her first. Of course, now she knows, too, since she reads the blog. This is her response so far:

“There’s a special innocence about it . . . like when you watch a child enter a wonderful space for the first time and they're running around touching everything, laughing, sometimes standing still with their finger in their mouth just wide-eyed . . . but it's all so new, seen for the first time ever. You do that with love somehow. . . . I'm sitting here reading the blog thinking ‘wow, wonder what it's like to feel love that way’ and then I snap-to and realize wait, I AM feeling love that way with and through him directly and also through his writing about it. . . . I love you!”

Dear Michigan (“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”)

Distance is a good thing when you’re triple jumping for the school track team. It’s a great thing to keep your distance when you’re on Safari and you encounter a less than pleased rhino. And one of the best things about college might just be that space you put between the person you'd been and the one you were meant to become (i.e. getting far enough away from home that you can learn how to be yourself, hopefully without giving up being yourself in the process). But when it comes to love, distance flat out sucks!

From my driveway to hers, if I push the speed limit without being negligent, it’s 8 ½ hours. Two of the past three weekends I’ve made the drive. She’s mentioned to me several times, Michigan, that you’re just too far to visit for one day. But that’s where she’s wrong. And I know she says that because she worries about me being tired after working all week. But I can get out on Friday around 5:30pm and head home and have a nice dinner and maybe just relax for the rest of the evening. Of course, what I’m going to be doing is missing her (and you) like crazy. And around 10:00pm I’ll call and talk for an hour or so and catch up on the day as best I can. Or, I can go into work early every morning so, come Friday, I get out at 2:00pm and I head due west. By the time I’d be making my goodnight sweetheart phone call I can be texting her from her doorstep. And I just don’t have the words for how good that feels. And here’s another thing about love (not the head-over-heels giddy infatuation stuff where you end up doing all sorts of things you’d never do because you just can’t be apart for longer than 38 seconds), it's important to have your own time and your own space, but just knowing that at the end of the day you get to be with the woman you love, that's what gives being apart it greatest value.

I hope you’ll forgive me Michigan, but I wrote a poem for a novel-in-verse I’m working on about a football player who moves to a new town. He thinks about his parents and how far apart they’ve become and he also thinks about the girl he loves and how just doing the simple things together is enough. I share a revised version of that poem here because the hardest part about all this is that at the end of each day the one thing I want most is to just go home and see her smile and wrap my arms around her and squeeze and tell her, I love you. It’s simple, I know, and not very poetic. But that’s the one true ache I carry inside me each day. If I have to, Michigan, I’ll drive out every weekend until I can just be there with you, until I can just be there with her. And maybe the best thing about all that space between us right now is that once I am out there, I’ll cherish it each and every day. Right now the distance and the ache are barriers I'm trying to eliminate.


Proximity

is one of those
weird words
that can mean
the opposite
of what it means,
like how you can be
sitting-at-the-same-table
close to someone
and never be further apart,
or how you can be all the way
across town working out
in your garage,
but you close your eyes
and it’s like you’re in
some restaurant booth
with her hand in your hand
and the warmth is there
in your fingers. Distance
isn’t just the space
between points,
it’s the space between hearts.
And sometimes, for some people,
close is a long way off,
far is almost touching.


*Quote in title is from Rumi

Dear Michgan (Before there was you),

Before there was you

there were sun-
shiny days and nights turned
silver with moon
light

there were words
for every
thing and lines broke
just so

but now
I stumble
through the white
space unable to convey

how much brighter
the world is, how
much stronger
the pull on the tide.

*photo by Justin McCormick

Dear Michigan (I Want To Share A Simple Truth),

I’m private by nature, as is she, which is why sharing my feelings this way, sharing our story, so to speak, is challenging, to some degree. But, as Neale Donald Walsch suggests, “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” And I can’t think of anything more important or more personal to share than love and a simple truth about happiness.

When someone reads these love letters to you I don’t want them to think I’m just some young fool blinded by infatuation or limerence. Somehow, somewhere along the way, over the past few years, we grew close, then closer still, we became best friends, and more. And I can’t begin to express how wonderful that is, how grateful I am to have you in my life.

Not only do we share so many common interests, like our love of the arts and of poetry and of nature (and of our inherent connection to them), but the best part is how we can just be ourselves, how we don’t need to be doing some extraordinary thing to be happy. It’s doing the everyday ordinary things with someone you love that can make them extraordinary - things like going to the market or to some specialty shop, getting the basics for a simple meal, returning home, moving about the kitchen, lighting candles, music playing on the Ipod, occasionally bumping into each other as we reach and rinse and chop and sauté and sip, as we talk and laugh and allow ourselves to just be there in the moment, or later, as the sun goes down, sharing a book. Happiness is found in doing these familiar things with someone who makes us feel like everything’s the way it should be just by being who they are, just by being who we are. It’s moments like these, like an afternoon hike, or clearing the ice on the pond out back so the kids can skate, when happiness reveals itself, reminds us that we don’t need to seek it out.

I like the idea of happiness being something that is with us, something we might not even be aware of because it’s found that “settling down place” inside us, it’s become a familiar part of us that we might take for granted, but it’s always there ready to flap around. Sometimes, we get so caught up in trying to find happiness that we sort of overlook the truest form (our eyes on the horizon instead of at our feet, so to speak).

Being oneself is often the hardest thing to do. But isn’t that what love is (that gift we often deny ourselves), an appreciation of our true selves. It’s not about trying to be what you think others want you to be, it’s about allowing yourself to just be you, to just be, and knowing that those who love us love us for that very thing. So, when others whisper in your ear about the things you’re not, when they try to bring you down, remember that I love you for whom, for what, you are.

Other quotes on happiness:

If you want to be happy, be. ~Leo Tolstoy

If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time. ~Edith Wharton

Happiness is... usually attributed by adults to children, and by children to adults. ~Thomas Szasz

Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful. ~Albert Schweitzer

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it. - Rumi

*image above via dia.org. painting titled "Head" - by Gordon Newton, 1989.