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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Why I Write

It's been a few years, my daughter is starting college in the fall and my son is a high school Jr.; but the sentiment has not changed....

I never thought about “mid life;” age has not been a tangible concept for me. I work out, am in fairly good shape, healthy, and at close to forty feel pretty good over all. I am married to a wonderful man and great father. I have two active, intelligent, school age children, and am fortunate to be with them full time insuring, to my satisfaction, their childhood security and happiness.

One day, however, as my best friend Nancy describes it, my euphoria seemed to hit a brick wall. My youngest was in elementary school full time, and the need for mom’s around the clock attention was waning. My good friend and neighbor moved away, and other mothers were back to work, so I did the sensible thing and took some college courses to prepare myself for the day I too might return to the civilized world of adult interactions, and let us not forget the almighty paycheck.

Petrified of re-entering the school arena, I was pleased with how many brain cells had not been caricatured to format Nick Jr. or Maryland Public Television. Writing, which had been my worst nightmare earlier in life, became my way of telling the outside world a viable adult still resided in an entity that knew more about Main Street USA in Disney World than Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington DC.

Words flooded pages expressing concealed emotions about friendship, love, and rediscovery of myself. This was the scary part, for beneath the inner workings of my “perfect life,” lay dormant the youthful, energetic, dreamer whose spontaneity had been put on hold while adhering to the rules of parenting; scheduling is everything.

Emerging slowly, with the help of a mentor, was that of a woman who would become more than the sum of her children and dreams of their futures. Once upon a time, it may have been believed that when you become a parent your life ends so as to promote that of your family’s. In today’s world, life at thirty-eight is a second chance to become, what I didn’t know I even had in me.

Of Ways Of Looking At A Woman represents a journey for me, one of insight to the deepest crevices of my soul. While writing, I am allowed to revisit the beauty in my life, but too must face many demons. I relive passion, intimacy, love and desire combined with failures, rejection, and loss. My ability to recreate the pain is the most rewarding, for it is the most healing. Putting into words that which is sometimes unspeakable, somehow deadens or numbs the nerves. The loss of a loved one, for example, may never leave you, but identifying it can bring understanding and acceptance.

My goal in sharing my poetry is to help you, the reader, connect your feelings of pain and joy with that of someone else. I have been known to search hours on end for just the right card, expressing the exact thoughts and feelings as my own. That connection, that knowing, someone else feels the same, is somehow irreplaceable.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Good writing is inspirational. Self-help is a lie. Good thoughts, good post.