Seeking Inspiration

Drawing it in and letting it bloom.

Hello lovely readers! How are you today? I polled my mom and daughter for words to explore for this newsletter, and my mom suggested inspiration. It felt so fitting, since I’d been searching for inspiration for this very newsletter. And as a writer and creative, I’m always looking for inspiration but I realize I am not always open to receiving it. I hope you find inspiration in unexpected places as I have, and that you have those fleeting moments when inspiration truly strikes. (I’ll file Ava’s word suggestions, including oasis, unique, and pineapple, for later). As always, thank you for being here!

INSPIRATION: an inspiring agent or influence. The quality or state of being inspired. The action of power of moving the intellect or emotions. The act of influencing or suggesting opinions. (Source: Merriam-Webster)

Plump raindrops dappling verdant leaves in the bushes lining my driveway. Purple irises with ruffles and colors and details that evoke couture dresses, on display in a neighbor’s yard. The most beautiful hibiscus I’ve seen outside of Hawaii, punctuating the landscape of our local putt putt golf course.

Lately, I’ve found near daily doses of inspiration in everyday moments, quick hits that are striking enough to stop me in my tracks and warrant taking a picture, as if I can capture the beauty and render the moment more fully in my mind.

Inspiration also means “the act of drawing in, specifically the drawing of air into the lungs” (Merriam-Webster). This comes from Old French inspiracion “inhaling, breathing in; inspiration (13.c)” (Online Etymology Dictionary). This reminds me that we must be open to receiving inspiration in order to find it and take it in.

Ava literally reminded me to breathe in last weekend, as we were shopping for plants and flowers with my mom as part of our annual Mother’s Day tradition. She loves to point out that the family green thumb skipped a generation (me) and is fearlessly planting a salsa garden this year. After we’d procured the tomato, bell pepper, and cilantro plants, plus a couple succulents for fun (hey, even I can keep those alive!), we wandered into the flower greenhouse. She stopped and drew in a deep breath, exhaling with a gasp of delight. “Mama, breathe it in!” she exclaimed, gesturing wide with her arms and tipping her head back just a little, as if to maximize her nostrils’ airways. The humid air seemed to both capture and suspend the fragrance, like a dozen perfumers had calibrated a scent for maximum floral expression: honeyed, vegetal, musky, fresh, spicy.

We walked up and down the aisles, the three of us, exclaiming over the unusual color combinations, the detailed patterns that looked hand drawn, veins snaking along petals or candy-like stripes so vivid you wanted to pop the blooms in your mouth like bon bons.

On afternoon walks with my mom, with spring bursting at the seams and blossoms unfolding in full regalia, I’ve stopped to take photos more often: a drooping tree branch, heavy with blossoms, a lush cluster of velvety Technicolor pink roses, a clutch of azaleas on their last gasp.

It reminds me that inspiration can strike anytime, but that more often, the act of being inspired is a practice that must be tended and nurtured. It is something that unfurls in the quiet moments, too, waiting for the right moment to bloom. We have to keep our eyes and mind open, yes, but our hearts too.