2016/12/25 § Leave a comment
My father loved to the go the beach on Christmas Day. When I lived in Kansas City, he would call on Christmas and tease me that he had just returned from the beach, and then he would ask me how the weather was in Kansas City? He always rubbed it in, which I didn’t mind, because I loved Southern California just as much as he did. « Read the rest of this entry »
2016/12/19 § Leave a comment
Life requires such bravery.
Visibility is almost always obstructed by traffic or a mountain or a cloud.
But take another step into the fog.
2016/10/15 § Leave a comment
Tonight, the night of the full moon, I meditate.
Lying in a circle of mostly strangers in the grass.
In a park above the ocean. Cool and breezy. My sweater wrapped around my body.
Listening to our leader’s cues, imagining my body filled with light and energy, grounded to the earth.
I breath in deeply, then exhale, allowing my thoughts to settle, being gentle with myself.
I open my eyes and let them settle on the dark blue sky above me, allowing my body to sink into the soft grass.
When was the last time I lay in the grass and stared at the sky? In the cool night air? The sound of the waves filling my ears?
Soaking in the beauty of this moment, I am calm and at peace. And happy. And filled with love.
2016/09/05 § Leave a comment
Me: “I am a writer.”
Other Person: “What are you writing?”
Me: “Well … Nothing in particular … Lots of things, but not one thing specifically … I mean, nothing I can publish or anything … I mean, nothing worthwhile ….”
Why all the qualifiers? What makes my writing worthy or unworthy? Does it have to be published to be worthy? Am I a real writer if I don’t have a specific project in process? What gives my writing value? Do other writers ask themselves these same questions?
For some reason, I like to place my thoughts onto the page. I like to string words together. I like to play with them. I like to pull over to the side of the road while I am driving just to scribble thoughts on scraps of paper before they fly out the window. I think that makes me a writer, right?
To answer my own questions, and for the sake of my own self-acceptance and appreciation of what makes me Me, I have strung together a list of the reasons why my writing is worthwhile:
- My “morning pages” are worthwhile, even though they are mostly grammatically-incorrect ramblings. Getting my thoughts and feelings out of my head and onto the page clears away the clutter, settles my monkey mind, gets my fingers moving and the ideas flowing.
- Exploring an idea on the page is worthwhile, even if a fully fledged piece doesn’t emerge. I could leave the scrap of paper on the floorboard of my car, but better if I give it a chance to turn into something before tossing it aside.
- Writing a message to someone is worthwhile, even everyday, ordinary communication like texting, emails, and letters. They build and deepen my relationships.
- Commenting on articles or posts is worthwhile. Why not take part in the conversation? And forcing myself to encapsulate my opinions into coherent, persuasive arguments helps tighten lazy thinking.
- It is worthwhile to publish pieces on my own personal blog, to a larger audience, or even anonymously. There is value in simply sharing insights and experiences that even one other person may find helpful or entertaining.
- It is worthwhile to practice and work on specific skills. Practice makes progress!
- It is worthwhile to write down my memories and process difficult life experiences, even if I will never share them. It helps me learn about myself and move through the hard stuff.
I’m not sure why I dismiss such an essential part of who I am. I suppose it’s fear. (Isn’t the answer always fear?) Fear grabs ahold of us when we are vulnerable. And writing definitely makes us vulnerable. Nevertheless, I am compelled to keep stringing words together, whether I am brave enough to share them or not.
2016/04/16 § Leave a comment
Slept. Woke. Checked time on cell phone. 6 AM. Pushed away dog’s face licks. Snuggled into covers. Pushed away dog nibbles. Got out of bed. Peed. Put on coat. Attached leash to dog’s collar. Walked around buildings. Dog peed. Startled by walker. Dog barked. Apologized. Returned home. Removed leash. Crawled back in bed. Slept with dog 2 more hours. Woke up. Prepared pot of coffee. Showered. Redressed in PJs. Dog nibbled on ankles. Changed clothes. Attached leash. Walked around buildings. Dog peed. Avoided man walking dogs. Gave treats. Walked more. Dog peed. Returned home. Poured cup of coffee. Picked up laptop. Sat on porch. Typed. Sipped coffee. 9 AM, called mom. Inquired about night. Received report of good night’s sleep. Mom responded to dad in another room. Dad needed attending. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?” “Yes, of course.” Mom called back 5 minutes later. Chatted about nurses. Planned my trip to farmers market. Listed items needed: yellow beans, summer squash, strawberries. Ended call. Texted list of items to phone. Sipped coffee. Returned to typing.
2016/03/20 § Leave a comment
I don’t understand why some dogs bark at all other dogs.
I don’t understand how anyone would think Donald Trump should be the actual president.
I don’t understand why it’s harder to lose weight than it is to lose your mind.
I don’t understand whether it’s better to have high expectations or low.
I don’t understand why people judge one another so harshly.
I don’t understand why it’s so hard to recognize our shared humanity.