Recently, I have found myself being more impulsive. From small choices, like ordering wild mushroom ravioli instead of something more pedestrian, to things like agreeing to go on a writing retreat in Vermont with a friend, I’ve been making the less comfortable choice. It tends to turn out beautifully. The one time recently I chose the ‘safe’ item on the menu, it was downright bland. And when I decided to jump off my comfy chair and take a bus downtown in torrential rain to catch an author talk at little notice, I ended up getting to chat with Molly Gloss and Ursula Le Guin (not to mention being treated to fondue by my friend Camille Alexa afterward.) I think we have an instinct for when our reluctance is based in wise caution and when it’s based in inertia or self-consciousness and would better be ignored.

Which is all a long way of saying I spontaneously bummed a ride to Central Oregon with my mom, so I’m enjoying the high desert and producing little in the way of blog posts. If it’s any consolation, I’m missing my yard’s most spectacular blooms as well as shirking my communication duties.