Amy Butcher

Catching up with a good friend tonight, he reminded me that when you’re writing good writing, it feels like flying.

I told him I kind of forgot what it was like to be in the air.

The last few years, teaching has had my exclusive focus—helping other folks find and prime their wings. I know sabbatical is a wildly indulgent experience, and it might look like I’m moving around the country like a kid took a Crayon and scribbled across a patriotic placemat, but I’ve written more in these past two weeks than I’ve written in maybe three or four years. Every day just sitting and cranking out pages, make a good dinner, read by a fire. When I was a kid, I used to hate coming up here because there was “nothing to do.” Now that’s the point. Finally have the first chunk of something substantial and feeling so excited to be back in the air.

Good friends who span decades are life’s greatest blessing, truly. In the absence of everything, I’d always pick them. I love you dudes; you know who you are. Thanks for reminding me I still had my wings, even when grounded. 💛