I jumped into memories, trying to see if I could hear myself uttering unnecessary apologies. How much of this is nature? Did she learn this from me? Absorb my perfectionism and people-pleasing through osmosis while in the womb? Because once she was born I set myself on a mission to unlearn this behavior knowing that I didn’t want to raise her to be a passive woman. I wanted her to be able to stand in her truth and in her voice, advocate for her own needs and desires with confidence and without fear.
I’m still nervous and sweaty before each session (my husband tells me I just need to get hold of some confidence), but I hope that will fade as time moves on. Practice makes progress, right? So here’s to being devoted to the art of Practice. Of making room for mistakes and mess, play and exploration, wonder and surprise. Of making room for the art I know I can make.
It’s my own doing that the children prefer my homemade foodstuffs over the store-bought goods. I suppose I should be grateful but at times it can feel like a lot of pressure when you have three sets of hungry eyes looking at you and then those three mouths are asking you for a snack. But not just any snack. They want a snack that you’ve made yourself. I don’t know. I guess it’s true that food sometimes feels like love.
At first, I thought my list needed to be much longer but the reality is that I still believe in simplicity and ease. By using just these three survival—nay—thrival techniques, I’m hoping that the summer will be fun, but not over-done, full without being overwhelming. Mostly, I just want to be present. And I’m hopeful that this little list encourages and supports that desire.
I have to be honest with you. Chardonnay is not my favorite varietal. I’m quite partial to reds and when I do drink whites, I tend to look for less common wines made from grapes like Vermintino, Gattinara, or Verdichio. I’ll never turn down a bottle of aged Riesling from Alsace or Germany. And I will joyfully gulp down glass after glass of Assyrtiko. But Chardonnay? Well…
I’m a writer. I’ve been a writer for as long as I’ve been a reader which means I’m going on 30-something years of knowing that words are my lifeline, that this is the work that I’m meant to be doing. I don't think that our dreams are random. I believe that we dream our dreams because our soul already possesses the knowledge and raw skills that are required for us to materialize those dreams. Knowing that you are capable and acting on with those capabilities are two different things.
And so at the start of the conference this phrase, “safe space,” was used, most likely to mean the same things I mean. Yet, I’m curious to know if it really and truly did feel safe for some of those who were in attendance. When issues of race, sexuality, and equity were brought to the table, how many felt truly safe?
Because Instagram is no longer the most perfect container for the various modes of my expression.
Because this year, the word I am carrying with me is “Devotion” and I need a space in which I can be more devoted to my writing life.
Because I really do love watching white pages fill up with these little black letters.