For the past couple of weeks, Ive been working on an article for an online publication.

I had a great idea.

I followed through on it.

I wrote the article, sharing it with the person I had interviewed.

She liked it; however, she shared with me her concerns about becoming so visible on the internet.

I listened to her concerns; and then returned to my laptop, making edits to the article, taking the focus off the person I had interviewed and placing it on the company for whom she works and her fellow co-workers.

I felt good about the finished article. I liked it.

I shared it with the person I had interviewed.

She very much liked the article.

I shared it with the company for whom she works.

They very much liked the article.

I submitted the article to the online publication.

I got a note today, indicating they did not like the article.

I’m sitting here at my laptop now, simply allowing my fingers to dance across the keyboard and very much aware of a memory showing up from an Act 1 scene during my high school days.

I’m recalling Senior Composition with Mr. John W. Stevens and the writing assignments he gave us.

I can remember sitting in his class, listening to him describe the writing assignments, and feeling writing ideas percolating within me.

So eager I would be to respond to the creative flow and express myself on paper.

I would turn the finished papers in to Mr. Stevens.

Mr. Stevens would return the papers several days later.

I vividly recall how some papers were covered with red ink, indicators that John W. Stevens had a different opinion about my writing.

I remember reading some of his comments, thinking to myself . . . well, I don’t agree with that.

But following the good-boy, not-making-waves student behavior, I simply did what Mr. Stevens suggested I do.

Sometimes I felt OK about the results, but too often I found myself writing to please the teacher.

And so today upon receiving the thanks, but no thanks message, I’m discovering some behaviors that are surfacing that are far more reminiscent of me as a 17 year-old in Act 1 of my life rather then me as a grown adult in my life’s Act 3.

I love the quote from my dear friend and spiritual teacher, J-R, Opinions are a lot like noses, everybody has one. You don’t live in other people’s noses, so don’t live in their opinions.

So with J-R’s quote percolating with me, I simply let go, knowing that I did my very best and accepting the opinion of someone else.

As for me, I like what I wrote. And I’m owning the fact that I like it and am realizing that’s the most important thing.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob