Sitting down at my desk I try, once again, to write.

 Being fully aware that there is no try—only doing or not doing—I realize what I really mean is to write something good. Every foray into the creative zone for me lately has been a dismal, disappointing spewing of crap not worthy of rereading myself let alone sharing with others. Yet here I sit, once again, trying.

 I lean back and let my eyes wander around my office. Photos of beautiful places and inspirational phrases neither transport nor inspire me, save for one that states: “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” Ah. Breathtaking moments. Let’s see...that weekend in Door County was breathtaking. Steve and I so shiny and new, wandering through eclectic art shops, holding hands, falling in love. He bought me that plaque then; a souvenir of our magical weekend together. I was memorized by our comfortable banter, the electricity between us, his blue eyes studying me so intently, so sincerely. He truly took my breath away.

 That feels so long ago.

Slumping back, sliding deeper into my chair—and my gloom—I search my memory for recent moments that have left me breathless. Picture perfect Kodak moments don’t spring to mind but instead I recall my sharp intake of breath at the audacity of something one of my sons has said to me, leaving me feeling disrespected and forlorn. The shallow, wincing breaths I take while walking gently on my fractured foot. A quick inhale as I abruptly stop myself from saying something to Steve that I just know he really doesn’t want to hear. Followed by a deep sigh.

 Oh! And the gasp that comes after hearing almost anything that comes out of Sarah Palin’s mouth.
 My life has offered me few truly breathtaking moments lately. The good ones, I mean. A spectacular sunset, cradling a newborn baby, the perfect kiss. The ones you want to measure your life by. And yet, if I go back far enough, I have been blessed with some real breath takers: giving birth to a child, diving to the bottom of the ocean, saving a life, romantic adventure, my words being published, hanging with rock stars and basking in dramatic sunrises and sunsets across the globe. Finds of all magnitude have made me catch my breath from finding the right guy to finding a great house to finding a fantastic pair of shoes, in my size, on sale. More than enough moments to measure. My glass is not just half full—my cup runneth over.  

 And so what of the bad ones? A myriad of breathless moments we collect in our lifetime that stop us in our tracks. The choking moments of loss, pain or grief when we can’t breath at all. When life knocks the wind out of us. When we are hyperventilating in shock or anguish. That is when we need to take a very deep breath. In and out. Remembering that to breathe is to inspire.  

 I see the inspiration in my recent breathless moments, those that left me frustrated or even pissed off. They have moved me to detach when I need to, to look at myself and see where others may be frustrated with me, to educate myself, and talk about, the state of the world and the people who hope to move our country forward. Each moment has inspired me to do something. Even if it was to sit down and put my foot up.

 I am sitting up taller in my chair now, pleased that I wrote something. It doesn’t feel like it’s very good, but it isn’t total crap. I turn to look out the window and am startled by the crimson and burnished gold of the leaves that have turned so suddenly. I hadn’t noticed yet that Fall has arrived. Sunlight pours down casting long shadows on the ground as perfect clouds drift slowly across an azure sky. A breeze catches a flurry of loose, golden leaves and carries them gently down to the rooftop below. Oh, my. How pretty.

 It’s breathtaking.