The Mormon Pioneers fled the eastern coast for a place where they could find hope and life. Many had to leave by the seat of their pants: pack only what they needed.
Blankets? What could be piled in the tiny handcarts.
Cookware? Only the bare necessities.
Shoes? What was on their feet.
Children? Well, only the tiniest got to ride, while the older ones helped pull or carry the younger ones.
I was praying earlier this week about my writing dilemma, and as I prayed, I a sudden thought about how these people struggled with the thinnest of things came to mind. I can only imagine having to pack up and leave immediately, taking the stuff that would help keep my family of 6 alive in the wild.
The reason why I bring this up is because it relates to my writing. I've been burdening myself with figurative heirlooms, the extra blankets, extra shoes, a few more pillows, a handful of plates and extra tin cups and maybe a jar of pickles for the craving.
I've realized that, on my journey across my writer frontier, I should only take with me what I absolutely need and not what I want. I've found my thoughts to be cluttered with things that have been weighing my heart down to the point that writing has lost pleasure. I need to review my inventory and weed out the things that aren't aiding in my adventure to publishdom.
Since then, I can feel my internal balances shifting to a better fulcrum; a new starting point that has promising
venues with a lighter weight to pull as I go along this terrain that is familiar, yet strange. Daunting, adventurous and magical.
How do you pack your handcart and handle the journey?