I'm making more bold decisions than I used to.

Perhaps my new decade has given me more confidence in who I am, what I can do. I keep telling my friend, "This is 40." lus why not try new things before it's too late? What is there to lose? 

In these next few posts, I'll share a few places I've boldly gone lately:

#1: GETTING MY FIRST TATTOO:

I always thought I'd get a tattoo. A long time ago, I said by age 40. I didn't have some huge list of goals to do before 40, but this remained in the back of my mind. As my birthday approached, I went with it. 

Background: My younger brother has a bunch of tattoos. As does his wife. They've befriended a guy in Lexington who does amazing work. I've seen the evidence on their skin! So I figured I'd go with a guy I trusted. And then I could get my tattoo expert of a brother to go with me.

Design decision: Decisions aren't my forté. So I've always put off getting a tattoo because I couldn't decide. I often thought I'd choose words. But problem #1—I like a lot of words. How do I narrow it down? Problem #2—I'm wordy, so how could I edit enough to fit the words I want on a small space of my body? Problem #3—I like a lot of words, so how do I give preference? 

Therefore it dawned on me—an image of a writing utensil could represent words for me. All the words I want to say. All the words I've ever written, spoken, edited. It could remind me to keep creating words. I chose a feather quill as the writing utensil for several reasons, one of which is my maiden name, Birdwhistell. 

Still undecided: Everyone asked if I was worried about the pain. No, I was worried about if I made the best design choice. Even up until the day of my scheduled tattoo, I was deciding—I found a new feather picture that morning and liked it better, so I showed that to the tattoo artist. When he put the design on transfer paper to determine placement on my wrist, I still freaked out with indecision—is it too big? does it look OK there? My brother just smiled and shook his head at me. He's had so many tattoos in so many places, my indecision was amusing to him. I quickly FaceTimed with Steve, and he liked the potential placement and size. So I felt better. 

Moment of truth: Since it was a small design and black-only line art, it went quickly with little pain. (Perhaps a larger one would've been a different story.) I LOVE how it turned out! And I haven't gotten tired of it yet! (Notice how I said my "first" tattoo? Now I may want more!)

Find out my other three bold moves: my audition, my writing, my project. 

I imagined this post so much it feels more like a memory . . .

Indubitably, I have put off crafting words on this subject for months. I feel need to express it. Yet I know not where to begin. The weight of perfect prose bears down on me. 

How can I aptly describe the changes wrought in my life from the music, words, and live stage production that is Hamilton: An American Musical?

It's no exaggeration to portend that my world will never be the same since Hamilton. (If nothing else, because its words will forever be imprinted on my brain!)

For an entire year, my life has been captivated, even motivated, by Hamilton:

• First was the cast album: It trickled across my attention at first, in the background of a busy day. Then in focused measure, I began to listen straight through, nonstop, from opening number to closing notes. For months on end, Hamilton prevailed on my playlist, each cadence cascading down my thoughts at all hours. 
• Second was the change in my thought patterns: Everyday words suddenly triggered rap lyrics, and normal conversation twisted into Hamilton tunes. When the songs weren't enough, I sought out a podcast to dissect the details. 
• Third was the inspiration: I was at a crossroads in life. A decision had to be made. And, silly as it may seem, I kept thinking to myself, "All my life I've waited for it. I've been Burr. Yet is it time to be Hamilton and not throw away my shot?" I took a bold course of action. And while obviously God, family, and friends gave me wisdom and support, I felt bolstered in a small way by the words and characters that had imbedded themselves in my life.
• Fourth was the trip: Thankfully, I am in good company. My friend Susan and my daughter, Kaelyn, have journeyed into Hamilton along with me. (Even Steve hasn't come away unscathed.) We trio of ladies traveled to Chicago to witness the musical onstage. (Though it is coming to Cincinnati this fall, we were past patiently waiting.) June 7, 2017 it all went down. If you have seen us since then, you will note—we are different now.

Story has power. Music has power. Add to that live drama, and you are enveloped. With tears in our eyes and adrenaline coursing through our veins, the three of us were enraptured. I can't wait to see it again.

Some may shake their heads. A musical about a founding father who died in a duel—what's the big deal? It's so much more. As previously noted, I cannot give it full due here. But simply put:

Shared history + raw relatability + catchy musicality + Lin-Manuel Miranda's wording wizardry = infatuation probability.

I claim to be a Hamilton victim—ensnared. I'm not even sad about it. 

And if you don't know, now you know.

And here's one more . . . 

I had not heard Eugene Cho until I got connected with Catalyst Cincinnati earlier this year. Hearing his experiences and then having the opportunity to speak with him one-on-one about generosity was energizing.

Here's one powerful tidbit: "Oftentimes we ask God to move mountains. We neglect the possibility that maybe we’re that mountain God wants to move." —Eugene Cho

He also talked about how we can feel incapacitated when we see the enormity of challenges and needs in our world. But if each of us give, then we join together and our small contributions can have a huge impact.  

Enjoy his thoughts by reading my interview with Eugene, published on CDF Capital's blog.