Is it a set of philosophical or spiritual beliefs and practices? A path you’ve carved out for yourself or one given to you by a teacher?

As the saying goes, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears,” whether that be an actual person or a series of life lessons presented to you.

According to Greek mythology, a hero follows a thread.

As told by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, the legend goes like this: King Minos of Crete had successfully waged war with the Athenians. He then demanded that, at seven-year intervals, seven Athenian boys and seven Athenian girls were to be sent to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur, a half-man half-bull creature who lived in a labyrinth created by Daedalus, a cunning craftsman. One version has it that Daedalus had constructed the labyrinth so cunningly that he himself could barely escape it after he built it.

Theseus, a king of Athens volunteered to slay the monster. Out of love for Theseus, King Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, consulted Daedalus who told her to give Theseus a ball of string so he could find his way out once he had gone into the labyrinth. She also returned a sword to him.

As soon as Theseus entered the labyrinth, he tied one end of the ball of string to the door post and brandished the sword he had hidden inside his tunic. Theseus followed Daedalus’ instructions given to Ariadne: go forwards, always down and never left or right. Theseus came to the heart of the labyrinth and also upon the sleeping Minotaur whom he killed. He then used Ariadne’s thread to escape the labyrinth and return to safety.

Stephen Spielberg considered Joseph Campbell his teacher and mentor, and he used the hero’s journey as a model for his Star Wars series.

In one of the films, Luke Skywalker fights with Darth Vader, knocking off Vader’s helmet. What he finds is his own likeness: a suggestion that, at the heart of the matter, Luke’s true battle is with himself.

It has been said that our one and only task is to master ourselves, to make peace with that self.

In Campbell’s words: “The flax for the linen of his thread he has gathered from the fields of the human imagination. Centuries of husbandry, decades of diligent culling, the work of numerous hearts and hands, have gone into the hackling, sorting, and spinning of this tightly twisted yarn.

Furthermore, we have not even to risk the adventure alone; for the heroes of all time have gone before us; the labyrinth is thoroughly known; we have only to follow the thread of the hero-path… where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world.”

After all, we all need planning time, time for reflection, decision-making time, problem-solving time, and time for “simply being.”

The big question is: “How can we begin creating thinking time?” Many of us find ourselves caught up in work, deadlines, crises, and the needs or demands of others. “Me time” can be hard to find or create.

For many of us, thinking time means writing time. Writing and journaling clarify our thinking, reveal hidden patterns and messages, and often bring the vague unknowns into conscious thought. As British novelist E. M. Forster asked, “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?”

Whether it’s a legal pad, a journal, sketch book, lab book, or log, the writing process is one of the best ways to promote clear thinking and decision making.

So how do we go about creating thinking time? The answers are as diverse as our personalities, proclivities, and environments.

A simple change of view can do wonders, whether it involves a walk during a break, lunch alfresco instead of “aldesko” at work, or pulling out a journal for a short writing break. Better yet is a longer period of time to let our ideas, needs, wants, plans, and hearts’ desires pour out at their leisure. A long walk or drive can let our minds unhook to be come relaxed and receptive.

Haven’t we all noticed that some of our best ideas or insights occur after exercise, using our hands in our favorite craft, gardening, or even while we’re not even aware of thinking. Long commutes, favorite music, and being in nature can stimulate some of our best thinking.

Creating thinking time is so important that we nearly always need to plan for it. This might mean making “artist’s dates” with yourself, scheduling “down time” and recreation, and making time for meditation. Simply setting aside a place and time for quiet and reflection can make all the difference. Some of us might want to take a break from the constant demands of our cell phones.

The most productive creators and inventors have taken frequent breaks and naps. The brain can only work efficiently for a certain period (around 40 minutes) before it needs a rest or change of pace.

Many of us like to sort things out by writing, by jotting notes, doodling, or pouring out our thoughts and feelings onto paper. Writing things down empowers us and makes the vague immensities more doable and less threatening. If you keep a journal or notebook, you can look back and see what progress you’ve made and learn from your own growth that may not be obvious to you at the time.

Creating thinking time and writing time and time for being are some of the most important things we as humans can do.

So how about you? How do you solve this near-universal dilemma of balancing work and creating thinking time and writing time? I’d love to hear your comments, your solutions, and creative ideas.

A summer morning cool, heavy, washed with dew and birdsong and with the promise of untold delights ready to unfold. Who knows what a day might bring?

First go get the newspaper from the mailbox near the road, then check all the little gardens. They’re all looking a little better, and the soil is gradually coming to a lovely, friable state

The weather is so crisp this morning that I have two thoughts: First move laptop and papers to the deck, then think about possibly, perhaps, just maybe cooking something like a fruit pie or roasted zucchini, yellow squash, and onions with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and fresh herbs from the little herb garden.

Both my mother and grandmother taught me to cook, each in her own way.

My mother taught me the same way she was taught in home economics class. Make sure your counter-top is clean and clutter-free. Lay out your measuring cups and spoons. Start reading the recipe from top to bottom, then take out the ingredients one-by-one and line them up in order of use.

After adding and properly measuring, of course, put each ingredient back in its place and swipe the counter with a sponge between ingredients to wipe up the slightest trace of flour or oil. By the time you’re finished mixing, your kitchen will be as orderly as when you began, and you can start to wash the numerous bowls and spoons in the sink. Pop your creation in the oven. You didn’t forget to preheat the oven to the precise temperature, did you? Now time to turn your attention to the next project.

I doubt my grandmother ever measured anything in her life or followed a recipe. Her method involved a jumble of jars, cans, bottles, bags of sugar, and a dusting of flour everywhere. Those were the days of sifting the flour and distributing it all over the counter-top.

Stir with a big wooden spoon in a wooden bowl to “about this consistency.” Now add a handful or two of flour, about “that much” warm water if the dough is too dry. Wash, dry, and flour your hands and knead “like this”—turning the dough a quarter turn with each forward push of the heels of your hands.

Along with the metal flour sifter, for pie crust, a pastry cutter was essential to reduce pats of butter to lumps “about the size of small peas” coated with flour. Then add ice water, and out comes the wooden rolling pin to roll out pie crust between sheets of waxed paper on a wooden slab. Dot the fruit with little pats of butter, dribs and drabs of flour and sugar. Pull the pie out of the oven when it’s done, “just like this.”

If you’re not sure about the readiness of a cake, the broom straw test will tell you the truth. If the color is not too brown and the broom straw comes out clean, your cake is just right.

Not so much science as art.

I may or may not get to the cooking part today, but I enjoy living simultaneously in the richness of both past and present, and remembering those exciting days of learning something for the first time.

There had been other remarks through the years: “How did you hear about Shakespeare?” (the same way you did) and “How did you even know there was anything else?” (the same way you did). I’ve been asked about Indians, log cabins, and covered wagons, and was told I’d be a pioneer in the arts in the Midwest.

No, my great-great grandparents were pioneers in the arts here.

As I was thinking about all this today, I stumbled onto this blog post that includes Saul Steinberg’s famous New Yorker cover I so love because so many of my friends seemed to endorse its perspective.

http://strangemaps.wordpress.com/2007/02/07/72-the-world-as-seen-from-new-yorks-9th-avenue/