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Miracles, by Nancy Chek

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Today I got that the only thing preventing miracles from flooding into my life at every moment is my commitment to being right—right about how sales is hard, or publishing has obstacles, or how this, that or the other thing is impossible. It takes my breath away to realize how much of a controlling interest I have in the corporation “This Can’t Happen.” I also own 51% of the company “That’s Nice for You,” which recently merged with the famous “Never Mind. I’m Fine.” I also got the inextricable link between miracles and integrity, meaning no integrity = no miracles.  I had been trying to get in touch with this woman, Tonya, for two weeks. I sent emails, I phoned (“This party’s voice-message system has not been activated”) —nothing. Today at a break during a meeting, the assignment on the break was to have a miracle. Called Tonya again—again, nothing. And I was committed to doing the assignment and having a miracle anyway, so I didn’t give up and just go have a cup of coffee...
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Creative Alignment - What is it? by Nancy Dorrier

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One of Dorrier Underwood’s tools for building relationships is to use creative writing as a path to discovery and authentic communication. We’ve long used the practice internally, and are happy to expand it to include blogging, as a way for us to share our exploration – and process of exploration - with you.  Nancy Dorrier, thought leader, co-founder, and president of Dorrier Underwood, starts us off with a reflection on creative alignment. What is it?  I listen to ourselves. Our intern used to say we interrupt a lot. She isn’t saying or not saying, Wow you guys listen a lot . She isn’t even being critical. “I am just saying.” Then I listen to a friend and his wife talk on top of each other and I don’t know which one to respond to. Trucking along in the conversation and here comes another voice. What is the value of 2 brains or 3 brains? Someone is thinking beyond, or at least other than the way I think, and the way you think. You and I can only think what we ...
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Guns, by Jane Smith

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My father killed himself with a perfectly legal handgun left over from his law enforcement days.  He kept it long after he retired, in the top drawer of a mahogany chest of drawers in our big hall, unloaded but right beside the ammunition. My brother and I knew not to touch it…not ever. Dad was troubled about his health, and the gun was handy and available that December morning. I don’t know if he would have used another method. I just know he didn’t.
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