I saw this on the sidewalk recently, before a doctor’s appointment. A thank you to the artist!
“I’ve been living with Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease for ten years now, and I’m still learning how to do it. I don’t know if there ever comes a time when you reach the finish line and achieve the “gold star” for figuring it all out. You just keep figuring it out, moment-by-moment, day-by-day, and wake up the next day, and do it all again.”
And so begins my recently published essay, “There Is No Shame in Life With Chronic Illness,” published at The Mighty. (Click here to read the article in its entirety.)
The conclusion of the essay goes like this:
“There is no shame in your body not working/functioning/behaving as it used to. Your body, your life, you – are still a marvel. Never forget that.
There is no shame in who you are and how you feel.
There is no shame in needing to learn this lesson over and over again.”
It’s an important lesson as we look with longing and hope to the new year.
And, if you turn to page 140, you will read “A Timeless Gift” — written by me! It’s my story of our family calendar and its place in our holiday traditions.
May your holidays be filled with good stories and good health.
Apparently, some people who know me find it hard to believe my pain can be pulling-my-hair, biting-my-finger-in-agony kind of pain when I’m still wearing all my jewelry. And it’s a lot – bracelets, nine rings, earrings, anklet.
But guess what?
“Yes, You Can Wear Jewelry and Be in Pain at the Same Time.”
That is the title of my recently published essay. Click here to be re-directed to The Mighty to read it in its entirety.
Back in March (doesn’t that feel like so long ago?), I was set to begin a class offered through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. When everything shut down, my class switched from in-person to virtual.
At the same time, we were figuring out how to best help our son with distance-learning because Los Angeles Unified schools had shut down as well. So I dropped my writing course before it began.
Since March, I have been writing. Sometimes more than others.
And since March, I’ve been published. Again, sometimes more than others. (You can check my Published Work page for a complete listing.)
But lately I have felt like something was missing.
And I realized what it was – being around other writers.
Most writing classes begin with a general introduction of who you are and why you’re there, what your goal is, what you hope to accomplish by being in that particular class. My introduction doesn’t vary a whole lot. I have a pretty consistent writing practice and know how to meet deadlines. (In case you didn’t know, I’m a regular contributor at MomsLA.com.)
I enroll in writing classes for the people. The energy that comes from surrounding yourself with other writers. Writers who are readers. Writers who read my work, and offer honest feedback, who push me with questions to go deeper and explore further. They let me know what works and what doesn’t work.
Often, there’s a mix of workshopping and writing in class; short exercises that sometimes develop into longer pieces.
In-person classes aren’t an option right now. And while virtual classes are being offered through UCLA Extension, I haven’t enrolled in any.
If you’re a writer (and as Barbara says, “Writing is a verb. A writer is one who writes”), I recommend this book. It’s gotten me writing – not an assignment for MomsLA or to answer a submissions call I learned about on duotrope.com, but writing not knowing exactly what it may lead to.
One object you’ll pack up and move with you, no matter where you’re moving.
One object that is meaningful enough to hold on to, forever.
One object that brings you “joy, magic, and meaning”?
It’s not an easy question to answer.
But it certainly made for an interesting book.
Bill Shapiro and Naomi Wax have compiled that book. They asked people, from all walks of life, who live all across the country, that question. I recently completed reading that book – What We Keep: 150 People Share the One Object that Brings Them Joy, Magic, and Meaning. I found myself intrigued by these individuals, the glimpses into their lives, the objects they chose.
And, of course, it got me wondering, what would I pick?
There is my wedding photo album. My son’s baby book.
There is a childhood doll packed away in a box on a shelf in my closet. She had two names – Lovey and Jill. (I don’t remember why she had two names.)
There is a ceramic mask I painted and decorated when I was in junior high or high school and had a collection of ceramic masks hanging on my half of the walls in the bedroom I shared with my sister.
But I think the object I would pick would be my signed picture of Sally Ride.
When I was in the fourth grade, and until I was in high school, my career goal was to become an astronaut.
I wrote to Sally Ride. Though I don’t remember what I wrote.
And she answered me with an 8×10 photo, her NASA photo, signed to me: “To Wendy, Good Luck! Sally Ride.”
Now, that picture is framed and hanging in my writing room. She is there, smiling down on me, encouraging me, believing in me. (Some would call it an “office;” I prefer “writing room.”)
Readers, I’d love to know. What object brings you “joy, magic, and meaning”? Feel free to share in the comments section.
“It still isn’t easy for me to describe myself as a disabled woman. For a long time I didn’t think a disabled woman sat on the ground pulling out weeds. Or played handball with her son. Or helped her elderly neighbor carry in groceries. But I do all those things. Because being a disabled woman doesn’t look the same for every woman. And it doesn’t look the same for me each day.”
That paragraph is taken from “It’s Not All in the Family,” a personal essay I wrote that was published in the fall issue of Breath and Shadow. You can read the essay by clicking here.
(Check out my Published Work page to be re-directed to some of my published A to Z Lists including “The A to Z List of Verbs Teachers and Students Practice Daily,” “The Alphabetical Prescription for Living with a Chronic Medical Condition,” and “The A to Z List of Boys,” to name just a few.)
A novel written entirely in list form. And through these lists the reader learns about Dan – a former teacher, current bookshop owner, a husband, and soon-to-be dad.
These lists are honest. Charming. Amusing. Authentic.
Here are just a few tidbits from the book’s lists I’d like to share with you this week:
“Reasons I quit teaching
– Couldn’t continue to witness bad decisions at the expense of children
– Couldn’t stand one more minute of professional development that was neither professional nor developmental”
“My teaching beliefs
– Teachers must be reading and writing on a regular basis in order to be effective teachers of reading and writing.
– Teachers must think of parents as full and equal partners in the eduction of the child.
– The most important lessons taught by teachers often have little or nothing to do with academics.”
“Words that belong on a child’s T-shirt
– Are you really going to rob me of my precious childhood with this meaningless worksheet?”
“21 Truths About Love
– To truly love someone, you must love the person you never knew, the person you know today, and the person that will someday be.
– Love does not make everything better, but it makes everything a little easier.
– ‘I love you’ are three simple words that we whisper to lovers in the dark, say to dogs that don’t speak English, cry out during sex, speak to the dead while standing over their gravestones, tell parents before hanging up the phone, and repeat again and again to the people whose lives are gloriously intertwined with our own.
– Love makes you do the stupidest, bravest, most ridiculous and idiotic things in your life. It makes you scared and crazy and crazed and joyous. Love is all the feelings.”
Let me begin by saying I write these weekly blog posts in advance. You receive them in your inbox each Wednesday morning, but I write them before Wednesday.
Which means what you’re reading today has been written before the results of the United States election were made available.
So I don’t know what this morning looks like. I don’t know what the election results show.
But I’m hopeful.
And really, with so much uncertainty in the world, that’s all anyone can really do. Begin each day hopeful. Begin each day with the awareness and recognition that, no matter what, each day is a gift.
I try.
Hanging in my bathroom, I have a small, framed piece of art created by Flavia Weedn. It is a reminder to appreciate each day as a precious gift. It is a reminder that each day is a promise of beauty and grace and wonder and magic.
WendyKennar.com 