Tend life’s resources as if they are precious; spend them as if they are abundant.

The mornings have gotten colder and colder, but autumn for me is such a potent reminder of the vitality of the seasons. Each time of year brings its own gifts.

At harvest time, I think of the cornucopia. The “horn of plenty” is a beautiful image: a basket literally overflowing with goodness. The bounty can’t be contained!

And yet we don’t take up a collection just to keep it. We harvest in order to nourish. This bears repeating: we collect what’s precious not to hoard but to use.

I learned this lesson for the umpteenth time recently. After moving twice in 2021, I have become a little obsessed with my craft “storage solutions.” I’ve always loved crafting. Paints, stickers, scrapbooks. Doodling, coloring, gluing crap to other crap. Making my own décor, making gifts. Mending what needs mending.

Needless to say, I have quite a stash of supplies. And I wanted things to land in their new spaces just so. I wanted things contained well. I wanted them to look organized and neat.

But the thing I love is crafting.

Crafting is an action: I wouldn’t say that I love owning craft supplies or that I love having made things. I love crafting. But over the years, I’ve come to see the supplies as objects of great wealth. I was aware in my youth that my parents were careful such that I didn’t want for anything. I myself had grown to love scouring the store shelves for the just-right item for each project—and the best deal I could find.

Over time, using what I had almost became an afterthought. The cornucopia is for arranging and admiring, right?

In classical mythology, the horn of plenty has origins with the baby Zeus. A goat—or goat-tending nymph or goddess or someone else entirely depending on who you ask—named Amalthea helped nurse the god. The baby grew in power. One day, while they were roughhousing, Zeus broke off one of Amalthea’s horns.

It became a source of unending nourishment, an echo of what the caretaker had done for the baby. The milk for the child had been so special, so important… because it nourished.

The cornucopia is a symbol of the precious plenty.

The bounty of my unused craft supplies is no sacrifice: it’s squandered treasure. I would do well to remember why these things are in my life before I get too caught up with the where and the how.

Life is precious… but not so precious it can’t be lived—freely, lovingly lived.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

Mary Oliver

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Writing prompt

There’s a Zen Buddhist saying: “Every day is a good day.”

To us in the West, it may sound like a call for “positive thinking.” Instead, the saying suggests that a day is just a day: it will hold the baggage we hand it (good, bad, indifferent), but it’s also all we have. The present. This day is the only known known.

What have I been saving for “some day”?

Write about the goals or dreams or milestones you’re looking forward to, but forbid yourself from using anything like any of these phrases:

• “Once I…”
• “When I…”
• “Eventually…”
• “At that point…”
• “Then…”

Set a timer for five minutes. No need to cross out or erase as you go: just try to redirect yourself any time those “someday” words sneak onto the page.

If you need more latitude than that, start your freewriting with the phrase, “Life is so precious that I…”