The older I get, the more I think that there isn’t always any rhyme or reason to why things happen.  The older I get, the more I believe that a lot, more than I probably want to admit, is really out of my control.  There’s only so much I can do.

So I’ve been trying to make a conscious effort to do “little things,” to put some good will out into the world and hope it spreads.  The other morning, I picked up a plastic spoon on my son’s playground.  A few days ago, I stopped the car in the middle of the street so a jay-walking postal carrier could cross safely (even though the driver behind me grew impatient and honked). 

On Monday, I was walking to a doctor’s appointment, and I saw this spray-painted “got love” message on the sidewalk. 

What if it was that simple?  What if we went through our days simply showing love in all its forms?  Love to ourselves.  Love to our family and friends.  Love to our community.  Love to our planet. 

It’s something I can do.  It’s something I can control.

I don’t know about you, but I usually have a difficult time answering when someone asks me, “How are you?”.  It’s a complicated question without a simple answer, and the best way I knew how to figure it out was to write about it.

I’m proud to say that Breath and Shadow has included my personal essay, “I Am,” in their spring edition.  You can read it by clicking here.

I wasn’t sure what to write about for this week’s blog.  I was tempted to write about my son’s perseverance when he plays basketball, and the fact that he attempts every shot my husband makes.  But I’m not.

Instead, I’m going to keep it short and true.  I’m sad this week.  My son is on spring break from school, and our family had plans to spend a few days in Cambria (one of my most favorite spots).  Instead, we’re home.  I cancelled our trip, because I haven’t been feeling well for most of this year.  I cancelled our trip, because I’m not eating like I used to, and I don’t have the same energy like I used to.  I cancelled our trip, because the pain has been worse in my legs, and I needed to be closer to home.

We’re still all on spring break.  We’re still all having fun. 

But it’s not Cambria.

Dear Readers,

If you don’t already know, let me give you the facts.  I’m a white woman, married to a black man.  Our son is bi-racial. 

Understandably, how I look at race is different now than it was when I was a kid.  And along those lines, The MOON Magazine has published my personal essay “Being ‘White’ ” as part of their “White Issue.”

You can read my essay here.

Hello Readers,

I’m proud to say that two of my personal essays have recently been published. 

Click here to read “Want to Let Go of Your ‘Plan’? Become a Mother” at Mother.ly.

Click here to read “We Hear You Dr. King — We Still Dream Your Dream” at Mamalode.com

Thank you for your support!

Last week, I met with one of the doctors who helps me try to manage my chronic pain.  In addition to a new medication, we talked about lifestyle changes.  So I have homework to do.

1. I’m supposed to lower my stress.
2. I’m supposed to get enough sleep.
3. I’m supposed to not push myself so hard.
4. I’m supposed to make taking care of myself a priority.

Anyone who knows me, knows that those “lifestyle changes” aren’t so easily implemented.  I worry, I make “to-do lists,” I am always trying to do what I can to make life easier for my husband and son.  I don’t easily acknowledge my own wants.

This medical condition of mine doesn’t just affect me physically.  It also has an emotional/mental impact.  Asking for help and admitting I sometimes can’t do certain (relatively simple) things are not easy for me at all.

So, it’s an ongoing homework assignment. 

When I publish my writing, I’m often asked to contribute a brief biography.  And I always list my son and the experiences from my teaching career as my biggest sources of inspiration. 

Here’s another example of what I mean by that.  In this essay, I was able to combine both — a true event that happened to my son and my perspective of it based on the twelve years I was a public school teacher.

You can click here to read my personal essay, “Why I’m Teaching My Third Grader About Harassment” on RoleReboot.org.

As part of their language arts curriculum, my fourth graders learned that there were four main reasons to write — to persuade, to explain, to inform, and to entertain.  The writer had a purpose, and conversely, the reader has a purpose in picking up a certain book, article, or pamphlet.

However, I don’t think those are the only reasons.  I also write to make a connection with others, and I read for comfort. 

This week I’m reading Maya Angelou’s Letter To My Daughter.  It’s been a very challenging week (health-wise), and when I read this passage I indeed was comforted.

“He said, ‘First write down that I said write down and think of the millions of people all over the world who cannot hear a choir, or a symphony, or their own babies crying.  Write down, I can hear – Thank God.  Then write down that you can see this yellow pad, and think of the millions of people around the world who cannot see a waterfall, or flowers blooming, or their lover’s face.  Write I can see – Thank God.  Then write down that you can read.  Think of the millions of people around the world who cannot read the news of the day, or a letter from home, a stop sign on a busy street, or … ‘ ”

Maya Angelou received those instructions from her voice teacher and mentor, Frederick Wilkerson.  It was one afternoon’s lesson that guided her from then on.

“The ship of my life may or may not be sailing on calm and amiable seas.  The challenging days of my existence may or may not be bright and promising.  Stormy or sunny days, glorious or lonely nights.  I maintain an act of gratitude.  If I insist on being pessimistic, there is always tomorrow.

Today I am blessed.”

Often times, it feels as if most of what I see, hear, and experience would all work as the topic of a personal essay. 

As an example, this week I’d like to share with my readers a post that was recently published on MomsLA.com. 

Click here to read “12 Life Lessons As Observed On the Playground.”

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.