When I first read The Artist’s Way, I was captivated by the concept of making time for a weekly date with your creative self. I adopted the idea with marginal success, and in the intervening years weekly dates have turned to monthly, and more recently even less frequent.

This morning, however, as I rambled along the lanes near Lake Michigan’s shore, I realized just how vital those private moments are. This is my first time here so I wandered down a sandy path between tree-lined embankments, and spied a break in the lush vegetation. I meandered in that direction, admiring the fine grit of the local sand, pausing to listen to a squirrel chitter angrily at me while taking a break from cleaning its paws. I continued on my lazy stroll, and then I found the lake. It stretched to the misty moisty horizon, and was glassy and still. Nearby, beach grass poked its tenacious head through a sandy bluff, proudly gaining its freedom amongst its brethren.

Oh, it was lovely.

I had forgotten how clarifying those private moments can be.

Oh, yes, I shall be having more of those artist’s dates in the future.