A partial list:

Lori-Lyn, spreading love and prompting reflection with questions such as "What inspired you this year?"

Amelia, writing and singing on. I've played Morning Song dozens upon dozens of times since hearing her and Jon Byrd perform it in Atlanta this spring.

Dawn Rae and the other friends and acquaintances whose poems have prompted some of mine.

The people at my church and at the Fluent Self who show me healthy ways to communicate, to lead, and to frame/own/manage one's stuff. The ones who quietly do the things that need doing. The ones whose inexplicable faith in and fondness for me provide a sense of safety and support -- and, in doing so, encourage me to strive toward that same generosity of spirit toward others. (I'm not claiming that I manage it. I'm merely lifting up the fact that I don't lack for good role models.)

My friends and acquaintances who are skilled at their arts and crafts: cloaks and mitts and earrings and the best scones ever and shawls and gardens and the list goes on and on.

My friends who are ministers, rabbis, nurses, teachers, coaches, parents, and the many other kinds of caregivers and teachers to all ages.

My friends who are creating opportunities for the work they want to circulate and preserve. (And whose successes are both cause for celebration and prods/prompts that push me toward working more diligently at my own manuscripts.)

The silver lining to being a jill of many trades and mistress of none is having experienced firsthand how many hours go into the making or performing of things at the level of a rank beginner -- and thus being aware of the many more hundreds of hours that are invested in the making and performing of things that are worth keeping and remembering. I loved the Viggo Mortensen profile by Zoe Heller that appeared in last Sunday's NYT, because he articulates so well how I feel: "Every time I see something beautiful, I not only want to return to it, but it makes me want to see other beautiful things."