Austyn sat up in the bed organizing her lovies who were joining us for the night. Turtle-Turtle, Rocky Bear, Dumbo, Puff Puff, and her newest acquisitions from an extended family exchange--Katty and Dog -- were neatly lined up on and around the pillows that formed a retaining wall on the far side of the bed. “You hafta be good,” she whispered to them. “Santa is seeing who’s nice and naughty and he’s coming in his sleighhhhhhh!” The last word taking off like a team of reindeer from the roof, its one syllable stretched to capacity inside a whisper-shriek. I was laying with my back to her, feigning sleep while cataloguing every single word as the Times Square Ticker in my head ran around and around exclaiming, “It doesn’t get better than this.”

My daughter has long been the best gift giver I know. Sometimes her presents are practical—like the Smeg toaster that I didn’t know I needed but can’t imagine being without. Or the towel I wrap my hair up in after a shower. Or the amazing vacuum cleaner that sucks up debris from every type of flooring in our home. Some of her gifts are creations—painted canvas signs or photographs or albums painstakingly organized to tell a story she knows I’d like to be able to get to and hold in my hands. But everything she gives—pragmatic or sentimental-- is wrapped in insightful paper that’s stuck together with “I get you” tape. Her presents say, “You are loved” and, “You are celebrated”, certainly. But mostly they say to those of us lucky enough to receive them, “You are known”. And that might be the greatest gift of all.

Go write. And please don’t try to get it right. Just write. Because trying to do it the way you think it’s supposed to be done just gets in the way.

The daily practice of writing is a foundational habit loads of successful people share. Daily writing grounds busy minds. It serves as a conveyor belt for sorting thoughts and feelings. It leads people out of corners they have backed or worked their way into by revealing doors and windows they weren’t aware were there. And yet just as many folks who do write don’t because they think they don’t know how.

He sang all the time. “Amazing Grace.” “Victory in Jesus.” “Cowboy Joe,” (the University of Wyoming fight song)…

      “He’s a high-falootin’ rootin’ tootin/ Son of a gun from old Wyoming/ Ragtime cowboy (talk about your cowboy)….”

Songs lived in his head and danced on his lips.