I’d love to write something meaningful today, but I’m just relieved not to feel the monkey-gong of emotion hit when I think about PEOTUS. Do you know what I mean? When you are just going about your business, and a rough thought comes along and… DONGGK… the bottom drops out of your belly and you feel deeply anxious. The feeling is like that sound on your computer, when you are clicking keys and it just keeps gonging you, and nothing works.
So, today is the first of the year, and I feel fine. I just ate a classic Southern meal: Cornbread, Sautéed Greens and Hoppin’ John. The air in my house still smells a bit like bacon. I had a nature walk with the kids, and a whisper of an idea about what this year should be about, popped through, and lifted me.
This is the year I’m going to become a writer. What does this mean, exactly? It means I’m going to write regularly, honestly. It means I’m going to read more books. And it means I’m going to put some energy into turning this thing I do toward the realm of “vocation,” not just “hidden hobby.”
So thank you for reading thus far. You’ve given me a sense that perhaps some words matter. Maybe this middle-aged mama in suburban Rhode Island can make a positive (or at least enlightening) difference in the world. I certainly try. I know it matters right now to try — and to succeed too.
So, signing off for the moment, but soon to be back,