When I Unplugged from the Grid

I just spent a week “off the grid,” disconnected from anyone not in my direct line of sight. I wasn’t living alone in Arches National Park, the way Desert Solitaire author Edward Abbey did for a long summer in the late 1950s, but I read his tale while taking in the eerie quiet of a Virginia forest at dawn.  It was a week of many lessons on what our interconnected world means to me, and I’m still processing the experience. Perhaps your insights on life in a digital age can help me.

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I learned that for me social media is like a cigar. I’ve never smoked cigarettes but I very much enjoy smoking an occasional cigar, yet I often feel guilty when I do so because I tell myself that time could be better spent with more productive activities. And I find after a good smoke that for a day or two the nicotine continues to call to me: “I see you have a few minutes to kill. Why don’t you pull out that humidor and have a quick smoke. It’s better than just standing around, right?” That voice becomes softer with time, however, meaning I know I am capable of enjoying cigars as an irregular indulgence.

My week off the grid began with a family vacation in central and western Virginia, and occurred in three stages. In Phase One I was computer-free but still had a smartphone. That allowed me to tweet and Facebook when our restaurant in Fredericksburg, Virginia, shook violently; it turns out we were a mere 40 miles from an earthquake’s epicenter. That Internet access was quite helpful in filling me in on what had just happened, including the important fact that a nuclear power plant near us had been safely shut down. But this was a family vacation, so my focus was on face-time with my wife and two teenage children, not social media with non-family.

Phase Two found us in a rustic cabin in Shenandoah National Park with no wireless phone service or Wi-Fi. It proved to be a blissful three days, at least for me. I’d wake up at dawn and sit by our fire pit, reading Desert Solitaire, bonding with Abbey and his time alone in a national park. I shared his offense at the “petty tyranny” of technology created by human beings, whom he derisively called “tool-builders.” I lumped my smartphone in with his list of “automatic washers and automobiles and TV machines and telephones…  what intolerable garbage and what utterly useless crap we bury ourselves in day by day.” (Italics in original.)

Our second night in the Shenandoah we drove up to a lodge for dinner and discovered it had mobile access. My daughter and son pulled out their phones and hit Facebook. My wife checked her work email and quickly was sucked in to a crisis in her office she could at the time do nothing about. Me? I left my phone in the car and pulled up a seat to take in the large picture-window view of the sun setting magnificently over the Shenandoah Valley. To my left an older man stared at his Mac laptop screen, to my right a young woman’s face was aglow from her iPad. The sun was unconcerned, continuing to set despite its show being ignored. I basked in a sense of superiority, dismissive of those poor tool-builders with their electronic tethers. They were oblivious of my condescension as well.

By the time the vacation was done I discovered to my surprise I wasn’t quite ready to log into Facebook, to fire up Twitter. I felt unprepared for the onslaught, feared drowning in a digital flash flood, a less fatal form of the real danger Abbey faced on a raft trip through Glen Canyon (before the dam was built), the real danger I suspected many might be facing with the approaching Hurricane Irene. As it happened, Irene made the decision for me, knocking out our power and forcing me to preserve my smartphone battery for emergency purposes, not social media. Thus began Phase Three.

In the first two Phases I had chosen to go off-grid, to embrace nature and the Now. In this final phase, the choice was removed from me. Maybe I was channeling the libertarian independent spirit Abbey espouses in Desert Solitaire, but I wanted my level of connection to be my choice. After all, Abbey chose to live in Arches, and chose to leave when the summer was over. I would gladly have reconnected to the grid Saturday night, when I couldn’t watch hurricane coverage on TV, when my kids were at a relative’s home for the night, and when my wife had gone into work for an overnight shift managing her news organization’s hurricane coverage. I have friends, real and virtual, up and down Irene’s path. I was curious to know how they were doing. But to be honest, I was just hungry for personal interaction. I wasn’t up for Hurricane Solitaire.

Abbey celebrates his independence in Desert Solitaire, yet most of the narrative in the book involves his interaction with others — his colleagues in the Park Service, a cowboy he sometimes guides steer with, his companion on that Glen Canyon rafting adventure. At one point he admits that “Aloneness became loneliness and the sensation was strong enough to remind me (how could I have forgotten?) that the one thing better than solitude, the only thing better than solitude, is society.” It’s worth noting that he concludes the book’s Author’s Introduction with the following sign-off: “E.A., April 1967, Nelson’s Marine Bar, Hoboken.” It’s hard to imagine a place less suited for solitude than a bar in a New York City suburb. He’s recalling fondly his time off the grid in a place nearly at the center of it.

And here I am, recalling fondly my time off the grid in pixels displayed on the grid, in a blog post that hopefully will spread on Facebook and Twitter.

I’m still sorting out the lessons here. But my takeaways include the following: 1) Communicating with virtual friends comes in second to face-to-face time with loved ones. 2) A little time off the grid is a great way to reconnect with your environment, and with yourself. 3) It’s nice to have some control over whether you are on or off the grid.

Have you had any cold-turkey breaks from social media? Do you moderate your use of it? Would you consider it an addiction? I’d love to hear your personal insights and experiences.

UPDATE 9/2/11: It seems Mr. Bacon is on the lam, out of reach of my frying pan. He’s made his way over to Milliver’s Travels, the comprehensive travel web site run by Milli Thornton. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that guy.

UPDATE #2 9/3/11: My tweep friend Andrea (@yarnsuperhero) just informed me that today, the Saturday before Labor Day, is International Bacon Day. As if Mr. Bacon didn’t have enough reason to get a big head. I’m hoping he doesn’t know. He won’t learn here, he’s too important to read my blog.

Say ‘Hi’ for Me

It’s August in D.C., which means nearly everyone who lives and works here is elsewhere. I’m spending some quality time with my family right now and this blog will be silent for a few days, but below are links to some blogs I enjoy whose authors appear to be continuing to post during the summer doldrums. Tell them I said hello.

• The Happy Book Blog by Jolina Joy (@Jolina_Joy): Enjoy these short essays from a young writer with a lovely voice and dollops of inspiration.
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  If you need me this week you can find me here, in the Shenandoah National Park. On second thought, don't find me.

  Strangling My Muse by Sandy Ackers (@SandyAckers): Sandy’s posts are short and focused on sparking a writer’s creativity.

• Fear of Writing by Milli Thornton (@fearofwriting) with Judy Clement Wall (@jclementwall): The blog is a nice mix of how-to, introspection on the life of a writer, and inspiring guest posts (including this one!).
• Barefoot Blog by Danielle Meitiv (@Danielle_Meitiv): Take one part oceanographer and one part fiction writer, stir and serve. A fun mix of fun science facts and a writer’s personal journey.
• The Traveling Writer by Alexis Grant (@alexisgrant): She’s a journalist in D.C. writing a travel memoir and pursuing self-employment. Yes, loyal readers, the similarities are eerie, but she is far more prolific than me with her useful writing-advice posts, so enjoy.

Hope you are having a magical summer!

Creativity Tweets of the Week — 8/19/11

Before we leap into some of the links on creativity and writing I shared via Twitter and Facebook this week, I have a question for my Canadian readers — are you as enthralled with poutine as I am? I was reminded of this delicacy — french fries topped with brown gravy and cheese curd — in a Twitter conversation this week. Now I’m jonesing to make a run for the northern border and indulge in a Quebec dish nearly as alluring to me as bacon.

CREATIVITY:

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  Your blogger in 2009 in Montreal, Quebec, a tummy full of poutine, happy to find yet another retailer of that haute cuisine.

  “Does Creativity Increase with Age?” Casie Mace, Live in the Now: As someone who turned another year older on Monday, I’d like to think so; here’s some science suggesting it may be true. (Related post: Allowing Ideas to Percolate)

• “Hacking the Creative Process,” Michael McKinney, Leading Blog: Lessons from Todd Henry’s The Accidental Creative. (Related post: 5 Steps to Subconscious-Driven Creativity)
• “My Summer Reading List on Creativity, Innovation, Design & Entrepreneurship,” Linda Naiman: Six books make Linda’s list. (Related post: A Writer’s Must-Read List)

WRITING:

• “Why MFA Programs Matter,” Brian Joseph Davis, Huffington Post; and “Why Get an MFA in Writing?” Jenna McGuiggan, The Word Cellar: Both writers recognize that writers don’t HAVE to get an MFA to write, but Brian shows how MFA programs improve our culture and Jenna offers her personal story as a recent graduate of the program I’ve begun, the Vermont College of Fine Arts. (Related post: Sharing Without Fear)
• 

  If you eat too much poutine, you might not be able to handle walking from Quebec City's Basse-Ville (Lower Town) to Haute-Ville (Upper Town). Take the funicular.

  “Suffering and the Brilliant Author,” Sarah A. Hoyt, According to Hoyt: Bottom line — get over this myth already. On a side note, recently I heard Jeff Bridges tell Stephen Colbert he dealt with having a good life by creating art after giving himself “Indian burns.” (Related post: Never Give Up on Your Dreams)

• “To Plot or Not to Plot,” Terri Giuliano Long, iwritereadrate.com: The age-old question, with answers tied both to the type of book and to the type of writer. (Related post: Flashing Your Readers)
• “There’s Still Time for You,” Jolina Joy, The Happy Book Blog: A sweet post by a talented writer who, like many of us, is pursuing the goal of being a published author. (Related post: Literary Agent = Book Contract?)

Now another question for my dear readers — where the heck does one buy cheese curd?

4 Steps to Breaking Out Your Creativity

Sometimes I post wisdom on the creative process I learned from talented and hard-working artists on my cross-country trip across the United States, but on occasion I post about how I’m applying those lessons in my own life learning. This is a post of the latter variety.

Every creative I know juggles many projects — creative endeavors, but also the picayune aspects of life related to work, family, existence. Few individuals have the luxury of simply setting up camp at a pond and writing moving prose.

The whiteboard wall in which I try to provide my muse a canvas upon which to play. The lower left is where I allowed my daughter to play.

This has been an upending year — leaving a steady job to launch my own freelance business, commencing work on a creative nonfiction book, beginning an MFA in Writing program. Below are some steps I’m following to manage my creativity, which centers around a wall behind my desk that I recently covered with white-board wallpaper (my wife discovered this miracle product). They are as follows:

1. Break Out Your Obligations: I habitually started my day by scribbling out daily to-do lists and took satisfaction from crossing things out. But this approach has a limitation, namely a failure to see each step in a larger context of where each leads in the future. I now keep those steps self-contained in their own project management timelines. So on my white board I dedicate a daily calendar primarily to appointments, with some teasers for which projects I’m working on that day. I keep the steps required for those projects in their own compartmentalized places. The upper left is a breakout of the the freelance writing projects I’m doing. A daily bar chart across the top center of the board lists where I should be on any given day on the two critical essays and my creative writing that are due with each MFA packet. Any other obligations — networking, family tasks, etc. — run to the left of my calendar column.
2. Break Out Your Projects: I’m the kind of guy who will face an assignment, say writing a 30-page personal essay, and say “Okay, let’s write that essay.” But I’m finding that isn’t useful for me when I have to meet tight deadlines. So I break the task up into discrete bites. That includes not just a list of steps but broader envisioning. For example, for a creative writing assignment I’ll create a visual structure of the piece, depicting elements of its action, story arc, thematic elements, etc. I dedicate the bulk of the white board to this use, allowing me to scribble away and fill that white space with brainstorms.
3. 

   Don't tether your muse on a Disneyland Autopia track; give her an open road in a 1965 AC Shelby Cobra 427 with a 6,997 cc V8 engine.

   Break Out Your Muse: The danger of a detailed project management outline is that it becomes like a railroad track, with no way of taking detours. I think of it instead as one possible path on a road atlas. I know a lot of creative writers who say “I can’t outline, I just write and follow the muse where it leads me” while others insist “I won’t sit down to write until I’ve outlined the entire work.” I think this distinction we artists make is artificial. We all have some idea, even if it’s in our subconscious, where we’re going, but we empower ourselves to trust our muse when she takes an odd turn.

4. Break Out Your Happy Dance: When you finally cross out that last step, it’s tempting to simply wipe the white board clean and outline the next project. And at some point you have to do that. But you’ve just accomplished something worth celebrating. Consider leaving all those crossed-out steps on the board a bit. Savor the satisfaction that comes with completion. Then take that good feeling into the next project.

I don’t remember seeing any white-board walls in the homes of the artists I interviewed on my road trip, although I seem to recall my friend and local writer’s group member Danielle Meitiv blogging about using a white board and Post-its in plotting out her novel. But all of my road-trip artists discussed their own project management techniques. Author and writing professor Erin Ergenbright builds shelves to hold boxes filled with materials she uses when combining prose with scrapbooking. Graphic novel illustrator and author Colleen Doran has several flat-drawer lateral files that break out all of her various writing projects, with a drawer labeled “Admin” that holds what she calls her “TV clicker.”

What approaches have you developed to manage your creativity?

Creativity Tweets of the Week — 8/12/11

Let’s get right to it, eight new posts on creativity and writing that I tweeted and shared on Facebook this week.

CREATIVITY

• “29 Ways to Stay Creative,” Vimeo: A fun, short video (with occasionally distracting music) that has tips both whimsical (#7, sing in the shower) and important (#16, allow yourself to make mistakes).
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  One of the photos taken by my daughter in her pre-college program this summer at Montserrat College of Art in Beverly, MA. May sunburst tentacles of creativity tickle you with inspiration this week.

  “Set Yourself Free,” DailyOM: This short post builds on one of the 29 above, letting go of perfection.

• “Paddling: A Creative Thinking Post,” Tanner Christensen, guest blogger at BrainZooming: Keep moving.
• “3 Things a Stuck Creative Should NEVER Say,” Marianne Mullen, Awaken Creativity: Put yourself in a positive place.
• “Will Prenatal Screening for Serious Diseases Rob us of our Creativity?” Daniel MacArthur, Wired: A shift from the usual fare of how-to posts, this thought-provoking article seemed worthy of being shared.

WRITING

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  Another in her series. It's an explosion of squiggly creativity.

  “10 Ways to Jump-Start Your Writing,” Sandy Ackers, Strangling My Muse: Sandy returns to my weekly round-up with good tips, including one I’ve been using lately, #5: Work on a different writing project.

• “Writing a Book: Finding Time,” Chris Brogan: The title is self-explanatory. It’s hard enough for me to find time to tweet these links and write this round-up.
• “Older and Wiser,” Martha Southgate, The Millions: Martha wonders why the industry shines so much love on young writers when those over 40 have so much to offer? This post speaks to yours truly, who turns 44 on Monday.

I can’t help noticing that several of the links I chose to tweet this week related to creating when inspiration is low. I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

6 Steps to a Winning Writing Workshop

When you’re just starting to share your work as a creative writer, you hear people say they’ve been “workshopped.” When, you might ask, did the word workshop become a verb? It sounds painful, like you’ve been bent over a sawhorse and violated with a jigsaw. When done right a workshop is far more pleasant than that, but the process of having your writing critiqued by peers and instructors is an inexact science. Someone who has been “workshopped” could find themselves bursting with new ideas for their writing. Or they simply could feel happy that nice people said nice things to them about their writing without learning anything new. Or they could feel resentment and anger.

Don't let these cute penguins fool you; they're leading you to Santa's Workshop, not a writing workshop. There are no elves in a writer's workshop (unless it's a fantasy fiction group) but there can be magic. (Taken at the Gaylord ICE show Dec 2009 at National Harbor)

Conducting a writing workshop is delicate, because the human ego is delicate. Last month I was blessed to participate in an amazing week-long workshop at my first MFA residency in Montpelier, Vermont. The Vermont College of Fine Arts all but invented the low-residency format back in 1981, and has had 30 years to fine-tune a workshop experience designed to maximize the time students spend on campus, a mere 20 days per year.

Below I’m going to list the 6 key characteristics of the VCFA residency I experienced. Please note that these basic strategies could apply in any setting in which writers are offering other writers feedback on their work, whether it’s in an academic setting or among friends at a coffee shop or living room. I’ve been in various formal (but mostly informal) workshop experiences over the last 20 years, and I never experienced anything as magical or powerful as the VCFA workshop. My local writer’s group has since adopted these basic principles and we’re loving every minute of it. Here goes:

1. Submit something a bit rough. We all want to look our best, but if your work is perfect, what are you hoping to learn? The writers who seemed to get the most out of their workshop were those who submitted something that wasn’t final but was clean of typos and grammatical challenges; solidly structured; with some passages of true beauty. Knowing it wasn’t a final draft left them open to valuable feedback for improvement.
   
2. Give your time and energy in advance. Several weeks before the workshop all of us received the workshop packet, 220 pages of submissions (11 participants, 20 pages apiece). We were expected to read each submission several times before arriving on campus, and encouraged to mark up the manuscripts with notes, questions, etc., with the idea that they would be given to the writer after the workshop. It took a lot of time to analyze that packet, but what a great gift to the writer to be critiqued by 10 well-prepared peers.
3. Honor the clock. We gave each writer one full hour, always starting precisely on time. The writer would begin by reading a paragraph or two of his/her choosing, then 55 minutes of discussion would commence, with the last 5 minutes left for the writer to respond.
4. Impose a gag rule. In other words, once the critique begins the writer doesn’t say a word. This can be very difficult indeed, especially when as the writer it’s tempting to explain, elaborate, correct, dispute. The key reason for writer silence is to encourage candid discussion; if there’s no defensiveness that can come from the writer, commentators will be less likely to be intimidated. What if you’re biting your tongue and they go off on some ridiculous tangent? Do you let them? Yes. This is their honest response as readers, so there are no tangents.
5. 

   I mentioned a workshop could be conducted in your living room. In December of last year I reproduced Santa's workshop in my living room when I created the Crustacean Christmas tree (click image to learn more).

   Encourage free flow of conversation. When the critique session begins, each participant takes a brief moment to mention key points and then passes it on to the next person. This leaves the bulk of the time free for a back-and-forth discussion. Just as in a panel discussion, the real nuggets often occur when someone says something surprising, another responds, and a debate ensues. Long monologues, one after the other, are not the goal here.

6. At the end the writer has the floor. Just as the writer must remain quiet during the critique, when the critique is done the writer can do with their five minutes what they like. They can ask questions. They can say what they agreed with and point out where they differed. Or they could do what several writers did at VCFA, which was to simply say “Oh. My. God. Um, thank you, that was overwhelming and wonderful and now my brain is dead.”

I mentioned that my writing group has adopted this model, by and large. What I mean by that is that we recognize we have our own realities in terms of how often we meet, the amount of time we have to be together when we do meet, how often people can produce work they can submit, the length of works we have time to read, etc. We’ve done two meetings now with our own hybridization of these guidelines, with some tweaking the second time, and I’m sure we’ll continue to tweak. But we’re all loving it, especially the gag rule.

VCFA’s guidelines are designed to encourage workshop participants to take their responsibilities seriously, to offer criticism in a constructive manner, and to receive criticism in a respectful manner. Any workshop system that embraces those three principles will be a success.

What has worked for you as a workshop participant?

Creativity Tweets of the Week — 8/5/11

They say if you gather enough monkeys to pound on enough typewriters they’ll eventually produce the complete works of Shakespeare. My friend Melanie is in a creative slump; maybe if she went ape-$#!* crazy on a keyboard for an hour, there would be an inspiring line of poetry produced there that might spark her muse. If you have better ideas please pass them along to her (she’s the first bullet below).

CREATIVITY

• 

  Could these four simians, secretly typing away in a time of fountain pens, have actually been the real Bard of Avon? (I note with suspicion that one of the smaller ones is wearing a cowl.)

  “Creative Slump,” Melanie Sklarz, Dose of Creativity: We’ve all been there, that period when the creative tide is out. Join Melanie’s readers in debating ways to welcome the tide back in. (Related post: Maximizing Your Creativity)

• “How to Increase Your Creativity,” Mark Lipinski, Mark Lipinski’s Blog: The short answer here is to give to others. I don’t have a “Donate” button on this blog, but that’s because the techie geeks haven’t yet figured out a way to digitize my favorite currency, bacon. (Related post: 5 Steps to Subconscious-Driven Creativity)
• “How Sarcasm Can Boost Creativity,” Jena McGregor, Washington Post On Leadership: Must. Resist. Urge. To. Summarize. With. Snark. (Related post: Sarcasm? Many, many of my photo captions.)

WRITING

• “The First Sentence as an Amuse-Bouche,” Therese Walsh, Writer Unboxed: To quote Therese, “Let the first sentence offer an impactful and authentic taste of what’s to come, an amuse-bouche that teases what the meal that is your story will offer and leaves the reader hungry for more.” (Related post: Flashing Your Readers)
• 

  I don't think the Crustacean Choir could have authored any plays because they're typewriter-challenged; I suspect they'd taste great cooked and wrapped in bacon, however. (For their story, click on the picture.)

  “Why You Should Kick Your Story Aside and Write a Different One,” K.M. Weiland, Wordplay: K.M. touches on one of the most challenging things a writer can, and must, do — know when to put a project aside. (Related post: Ideas are Plentiful, Choosing is the Key)

• “The Joy of Edits,” Allison Tait, Life in a Pink Fibro: In my words — definitely not Allison’s — accepting edits with grace is as important as lying still during a rectal exam; remember that both examinations usually result in better health for the patient.  (Related post: When Do You Share Your Creation?)
• “Top 10 Ways to Spice Up Your Writing,” Melissa Donovan, guest post at The Top 10 Blog: A lot to learn in this clever post structured around meal preparation, with an enticing #10: Stay for drinks. (Related post to #10: A Circle of Trust)
• “Following Your Dream,” Kathy Lynn Hall, Red Mojo Mama’s Musings: One woman’s story of becoming a writer. (Related post: Starting Down the Road)

This post marks the return of two of this blogger’s muses — monkeys and bacon. Welcome back, you delightful scamps.

A Shooting Star, or the Story of a Life

Thirty years ago, on July 16, 1981, I lost one of my muses to a violent car crash. I had never met Harry Chapin, had never been blessed to hear him perform live, but he shared the story of his life through his music, and the story of my life is forever changed because that shooting star passed through my firmament.

I might have been the only fourteen-year-old in 1981 calling himself the world’s biggest fan of a folk singer rarely heard on the radio. I often talked about Harry, using only his first name as we do when someone has touched our heart. Invariably I’d be met with a blank stare, and I’d say “You know, ‘Cats in the Cradle,’” and the other person would go “Oh yeah, ‘Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon,’ that song about the guy whose son won’t hang out with him when he’s grown up, sad song,” and then we’d stare at each other for awhile, and finally one of us would change the subject. But I didn’t need others to know how, or why, Harry’s stories spoke to me.

He was a humanitarian dedicated to tackling world hunger, and his friends and family continue the fight through the non-profit he co-founded, Why Hunger. And he was a storyteller, singing of lonely night-shift workers and Titanic dance band members. But he mostly sang about himself.

My favorite album was “Verities and Balderdash,” with the best songs on the album offering more of the former than the latter. “Cats in the Cradle” opened that album, but right after that came “I Wanna Learn a Love Song,” a poignant first-person account of a young guitar instructor winning the heart of a beautiful — and married — housewife. That was the story of how Harry met his own muse, his wife Sandy. Sandy was a muse for Harry, a poet who wrote the lyrics to “Cats in the Cradle.”

My favorite song on “Verities and Balderdash,” the song that cut to my heart, was “Shooting Star.” It’s the story of a “crazy” artist Harry refers to as the Sun, “burning bright and brittle.” He has a wife, the Moon, who shines back his light.

Harry was a shooting star, and Sandy his Moon. I, like Harry, was a bundle of creative fire. I was a Sun, I told myself, a tortured soul who “builds castles in the sky” and “dances to music no one else has ever heard.”

A short while ago I was listening to “Shooting Star” for most likely the two millionth time and the impending anniversary of Harry’s death hit me. Over those thirty years I had finished school, joined the workforce, married, had children. I was a grown-up, and grown-ups can’t burn bright and brittle. They have responsibilities.

The pain of losing Harry returned to me, and I had to stop listening to “Shooting Star.” A few minutes later a different Harry song was playing, “Story of a Life.” Harry wrote that song in the second person, so it wasn’t just the mood I was in that had him telling my own story. I had sought a wild life, he sang to me, but then I found a wife who shared the story of my life even when she saw my “dreams go poorly.”  My “wandering is done,” he said, and now I’ll find my “dreams of open spaces… in my children’s faces.”

I never did become that shooting star, a brittle, burning Sun. But I was touched by one.

Some scientists believe life on Earth began with a shooting star, the organic material that makes up every living thing seeding the planet by crashing here on a meteorite. Harry’s shooting star seeded something in me, a dream to live a creative life. This blog chronicles my attempts to recapture that dream, a dream to dance to my own music, a dream that has gone poorly at times.

I am once again pursuing that dream, and I can be a Sun. But I am not brittle. As such, I can be there for my wife and for my children. And they can be there for me, because my wandering is done. I will be a Sun for them, burning bright but not brittle, and I will dance in the light they reflect as my Moon.