Here's a story about finding what you need.

I was walking through the neighborhood with my three-year-old son, Leif, the other day to pick up his older brother from kindergarten. The school is just a few blocks up the road and the midday trip has become a part of our daily routine together.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon: warm, the sun shining and young Leif chatterboxing nonstop as we strolled along. I was struck by the peacefulness of it all. No worries. No thinking. Just easy existing on a nice day with a cute kid in a good mood. Hard to beat that.

Right about then I got an idea. A hook for a new piece of writing. That opening line was soon followed by a second sentence which strung along a third and not too far behind all that the anxiety of potentially forgetting this burst of inspiration before we got home.

I was sans phone (foolish) and carried no notepad (idiocy). I did have a pen, though, and got to thinking.

"Let's try to find a piece of paper."

You’ve got to admit that was a pretty good idea. But also something of a creative tourniquet, so I started opening up our options. Those three lines deserved their chance to change the world.

"We need something to write on. Cardboard would work, but, hmm, looks like they took all the recycling today.  Well, maybe not all of it. Or . . . wait a minute. I could write on my arm."

"Or your hand. Or your head. Or your belly," Leif chimed in.

And he was right.

Eventually, we did find a piece of paper and I was able to immortalize my strike of mediocrity. But more importantly--and as a moral to our story--Leif and I's little jaunt acted as a keen reminder. Of this.

It's easy to limit yourself by going to and stopping at what's most familiar. The pen and its corresponding paper. But maybe opening up greater possibilities in life is just as easy. And maybe all it takes is asking the write questions.

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