You should know, I am a die-hard GWTW fan. I’ve lost track now exactly how many times I’ve watched the movie. But I have read the book only once. I’m thinking I need to rectify that. The GWTW experience for me began as a lonely and homesick thirteen-year old wandering the musty maze of books…read more...
I don’t know how you’re feeling as we approach November, but I’m tired. Tired of the frustration, the anger, the vitriol, tired of everything that this nasty election has exploded into. More frustrating for me is that it’s not even my election. But it’s everywhere. You can’t turn on the television or the radio or…read more...
I’m going for the record on starting blog posts with, “So, I haven’t blogged in a while…” And it’s true. I haven’t. Why? Good question. Oh. You want the honest to God truth, huh? Because I haven’t felt like I have anything to say. Nothing you haven’t heard before at least. And let’s face it,…read more...
Whoa. It’s been awhile. I’ve been off at my happy place the past few weeks. Our lakeside hideaway in Northern Ontario. And it wasn’t quite the holiday we were expecting, with family illness that added some stress to what was supposed to be a stress-free time. But such is life. You move through it. You…read more...
We’re almost at the mid-point of the year and I’m … re-grouping. Breathing deep and re-evaluating, sorting boxes in my head and sticking to what is true. Discarding what is not. Figuring out who this girl really is. I haven’t always known for sure. Fear of failure and self-doubt swirl like monster waves and I’ve…read more...
Reading through my blog posts lately, I had a thought. Wow, this is depressing. Okay, yeah, that was my thought, but I kind of giggled afterward. Not just because it’s true, but because it’s been so much a part of my journey of late. All these challenges, battles and trials, the wondering, the waiting. And sometimes…read more...
In the aftermath of the celebrations, all is quiet. Still. Things are tidied, relatively speaking, and I’m heading into the new year filled with anticipation. Yet, there is a restlessness within, something I can’t quite comprehend. Something perhaps I need to do, to say, to put aside. But my thoughts still scream loud.
I’m thinking about my writing. Thinking about what’s to come and how I’ll handle it.
Us creative types don’t have it easy, you know. We’re not analytical thinkers. Can’t prioritize and put things into neat little boxes ready to deal with one at a time, as suits. No. Our minds are a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings and ideas and triflings, a kaleidoscope of happy madness. And sometimes that’s too much to bear. For me at least.
Because I feel so deeply, you see, and I’d rather not. It’d be so much easier if I could nod and say, oh how tragic, and just move on, move past that pain. But I take things on. I dwell on that awfulness, that sorrow I wish I could lift. That problem I so want to fix. That broken heart I’d give anything to see mended.
Not your problem… No. I don’t suppose it is. But I feel it just the same.
When I first began to write, I didn’t understand. It was fun. I was having the time of my life creating these little stories that nobody would ever read. It wasn’t something I imagined would become a career. And then one day, that dream appeared, and changed everything. Changed the way I viewed my writing. Changed my very outlook on life.
I see the connection now. The way I’m wired. To think and feel and hurt and rage and love…on a deeper level…is necessary, because how can I possibly hope to express that which I know nothing about? If I don’t feel…I can’t know.
It’s more now. More than fun. More than just something to while away the hours. It’s a mission, if you will. Being trusted to tell the truth through story. Terrifying. Yet…not. Because it is here, in this space of silence where I can hear my heartbeat over the turbulence inside my mind, here is where the truth lies. Here is where I must listen. Here is where I must trust. Trust myself to know what comes next. Which story should be told. And how to tell it.
There are thousands of stories in the world. Why should mine matter so much? I’m not exactly sure. But for some reason, here I am. Called to this. And it’s a little daunting. See? Those deep thoughts take over again, make me smile because I know I won’t be rid of them. However much I think I’d like to be, I need them. I need to feel another’s pain as deeply as if it were my own so I can write it down. And when we know pain, we know hope. Eventually joy.
This cycle of feeling…sure it can drive us mad, if we let it, but this…this is the stuff of life. The tears and heartache and melancholy and then a sudden burst of sun through dark rain clouds.
A hand slipping into yours, unexpected, yet a perfect fit.
The first time you made eye contact with that one who seemed to see right into your soul.
Those tears you cried late into the night when you knew nobody could hear.
That anger unleashed over something you never thought would happen. Not to you.
The numbness brought on by grief, standing graveside, saying goodbye.
A smile that says more than any words could.
Laughter that bubbles up, unbidden yet determined to take over till it rocks you, unstoppable, and the tears roll and you feel washed clean again.
Crazy, isn’t it? The challenges, the miracles, the mystery…I wouldn’t change the way I feel about things now. No. Instead, I choose to embrace it, the tumultuous blend of thoughts and feelings and experiences that shape us. All of it. It is all for me. To learn and grow and love…maybe a little more than I want to.
This new year…this new beginning…it’s ripe with promise.
And perhaps what we need most will come when we least expect it.