While my intention this morning was to arrive at work bright and early, partially for the purpose of jumping online to write for a bit, I refused to part with my snuggly warm blankets and since my son missed the bus, got to drive him in to school instead. I arrived at 830, tapping the bell for arrival time even though I’m leaving early today for the Army meeting with my oldest son…see post from the other day.
Having completed a little reading of the other writers/ blogs, I am blown away by the different writing styles, the ideas people ponder, the emotions people share. As I’m reading, I feel that any of those voices could be me on a random day, depending on my mood, what is happening in my life, where I am at the moment I begin writing (literally and/or metaphorically), what my most recent experience has been, or worse, who may have made me angry at work (though I desperately try not to be a meanie online.) I am touched by parenting moments, emotional connections, thoughts and voices that take me back to being a young mother with little men vs. my now young adult men. I revel in the voices sharing toils of depression, remembering what that void sometimes felt like and how dark my days sometimes felt…and better yet, watching a voice transform as the light begins shining at the end of the tunnel, or as in my case, as the meds begin to kick in sloughing away the anxiety. I’m “envious” of the voices of our traveling writers, sharing in the luxuries and beauty of a world I may never see but am so thankful to visit through the writing and photography of others. All those voices that on another day, in another life, or in a different setting might be my own.
The comfort and familiarity and comradery I’m finding leaves me hopeful that one day it will be my voice that connects, my photos that take a reader to a new location, my ability to review a book and provides author tidbits that brings a smile. Maybe it will be a sarcastic piece on a rough day in the office, a shared memory of my boys and their upside down smiles of chocolate milk in upper lips, the story of my single mother’s strength in raising me and my sister, obstacles overcome and hurdles cleared by friends and family. My heart is just bursting right now, so happy to be writing and sharing and reading.
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