For the past week or so, I’ve been reading When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams. Here are a few of the stand-out lines that really caught my attention.
“… then it was also here where I came to know I can survive what hurts. I believed in my capacity to stand back up again and run into the waves again and again, no matter the risk.”
“Each voice is distinct and has something to say. Each voice deserves to be heard. But it requires the act of listening.”
“I have experienced each encounter in my life twice: once in the world, and once again on the page.”
“To be read. To be heard. To be seen. I want to be read, I want to be heard. I don’t need to be seen. To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones.”
These words are not mine, and they’re not about me. Yet I read them and felt as if they were meant for me.
Yesterday my husband and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary! It’s kind of crazy to write that sentence. 18 years — a whole adult person!
It got me thinking about an essay I wrote four years ago. “13 Lessons About Marriage” was originally published at DivineCaroline.com. Since then, the site and my essay’s title have been changed, but my essay remains.
In the spirit of Valentine’s Day and anniversaries, I would like to share it with my readers today. Click here to read it.
I’m in the middle of reading Samantha Dunn’s memoir Not by Accident – Reconstructing a Careless Life. I’m reading it because I’m curious about how she structured her memoir. I’m also reading it because I know she lived to tell the tale (she’s an instructor in the Writers’ Program at UCLA Extension).
But I keep coming back to something written within the first few pages of the book. Ms. Dunn’s friend tells her, “God touches us with a feather to get our attention. Then if we don’t listen, he starts throwing bricks.”
Sometimes that’s how I feel. That I don’t pay attention to the smaller, more subtle signs, and it’s not until something more drastic happens that I sit up and pay attention. And let me just say that within the first month of 2017, there have been a few brick-throwing instances sent my way.
I’m going to really try to learn to start paying attention to the feathers.
What does it mean to raise a boy?
I’ll be honest. When I learned I was pregnant with my son, I was a bit worried. Aside from my limited time with my two nephews, I had no prior experience with young boys. All my babysitting jobs had involved girls.
Turns out that in many respects raising a boy isn’t much different from raising a girl. Until, that boy gets older.
Click here to read my personal essay “Raising a Boy” that was recently published on MomsLA.com.