Digging, Dirty Fingernails, and Finding Your Magic

On digging in
“Yes, I *do* want it,” explained bear. “But, I don’t want to get dirty.”

“Is it possible,” replied crow, “to have one without the other?”

Thoughts while making
She had dirt under her fingernails. And he did, too. It was magic.

My mom is a gardener. Ever since I can remember, she’s dug in the earth – nurturing, inviting, creating space for the possible to grow, to blossom, to fruit and feed.

My dad is a woodworker. My earliest memories find him surrounded by a whirr of machines and the glint of steel – coaxing truth from grains, reimagining those circles of time into piles of woodchips and shavings.

Growing up, there was a water-stained wooden nail brush sitting high up in the nook of my parent’s shower, just above my reach. Cream yellow bristles showing every sign of frequent use.

As a kid always seeking something a few inches beyond, my nails were rarely clean, and I remember often feeling embarrassed about it; tucking my fingers into palms, thumbs hiding under fingers; a fist of shame that I carried with me through high school and long into adulthood.

Last night, as I was cleaning my nails with my own water-stained brush, a daily ritual, I smiled.

Metal dusted and paint smattered, my nails are storytellers, recounting often overlooked moments from each day.

For me, they’re reminder that I’m digging in and doing the work; work that is often messy and hard, yet work that so fills me, so consumes me, I don’t see the “dirt” accumulating under my nails.

What are doing to get your hands “dirty”? Where are you digging in, figuratively or literally? What are you playing with – or wrestling with – that invites the possible, coaxes that something more?

Because I know you are, yet – like me – it often takes a daily (nail-cleaning) reflection to be reminded of the good work you are doing.

Dig on, magic maker, dig on!