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Bellies brimming with sautéed veggies and angel hair, the muses get a jump start on tomorrow’s love letter because…
“What if it’s cancer…” Calliope scratches a belly button bite and wonders what the dermatologist will say about all of their bug welts, black raspberry cane scratches, and the scaly discolored patches prompting tomorrow morning’s visit.
“Then we’ll deal with it.” Nia keeps her eyes on the petals she’s painting.
“Are we ambitious?” Calliope’s head is as full of queries as her stomach is of pasta.
“Are we successful?”
“Success means different things to different people.” Thalia fields the pop fly. “We show up. We learn. We grow. We learn. We grow. We learn. We grow. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. If that’s not success — then what is?”
“Are we disciplined?”
Exasperation knits and purls Nia’s brow. “We’re here aren’t we?”
“Are we excited?”
“Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-Huh!” Thalia wiggles in her seat. “Why-eee all the questions?”
“I read a sign that said the planet needs more peacemakers, restorers, and storytellers… not ambitious, successful people.”
“And why exactly —” Nia has a question of her own, “— can’t people be all of the above?”
Without ambition one starts nothing.
Without work, one finishes nothing.
The prize will not be sent to you.
You have to win it.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson