On Writing

I just don’t feel like writing anymore. That, says my friend and writing buddy Elissa, is PRECISELY why I need to start writing. It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t need to be profound. It just needs to be.

I know she is right, damn her. I knew the second I read the quote “I write to figure out what I think” that whoever said it was talking about me. I still have just as many free-floating thoughts and feelings as I ever did, but they don’t knock me quite as flat as they did in those paralyzing days right after Tom died. All great growth seems to come out of deep pain and I’m not there anymore.

But maybe that’s the point. Not how to live life at the margins, gulping in the high highs and finding a way to survive the gut punch low-lows, but how to live in the smack dab middle, how to slog on and on through the normal up and down and all around days and nights, weeks and months. How to show up for all that living and pay enough attention to have a word or two to say about the experience.

So that’s my goal. Make time to write. Look under the pile of mail and find my voice again. Or just put some words on the page in the hopes that they might have babies and grandbabies. And that someplace along the line there will be something good, something that brings insight or comfort or a laugh.

Here I go……again.

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