I love “aha” moments. I spent an afternoon at the kitchen table with a friend, sipping on an espresso, sharing life stories. I was more interested in her back stories than recounting my own tales of wanna be hippie-dom, divorces, corporate life, etc. She is a lovely and brilliant African American woman whose life is nothing short of an amazing, gut-wrenching, and joyously rich collection of life experiences. We laughed, shook our heads, dropped the F-Bomb and discussed the commonalities that as women, we all share.
She wants to write a book. And though we have that in common, I have to admit that she has an entire span of human experiences from which to draw that I have never even imagined. It’s not a cultural thing, it’s not a political thing. It’s just about being a woman, being a mother or a sister; cultivating that compassion that we feel for struggle, while living in this upside down, media saturated, challenging thing we call LIFE...and surviving.
It made me think of why I started this blog years ago - I wanted to write. I read over some of my past blog posts and I was reminded how much I love humor and at the same time, I love sharing my passion for the beliefs that I hold dear. I’ve journaled over the years, but most of those scribbles were a little dark, intensely personal, and a precursor to Zoloft. I did not re-read them nor did I keep them, tearing out the pages and gifting them to Red Dog Shred. But even then, I wrote with conviction and good penmanship, choosing my words carefully, as if someone might actually read the entries. God forbid.
I just need/want/plan to write. Follow me or not. That’s it. Period.
Laurel...no Hemmingway, but...
