Today I am Writing: On Power

I didn't mean to end up there, at the cafe, reading.

It started because I needed a walk, to clear my head from the clouded up night, to feel as if my feet could move me somewhere.

I watched my shoes hit the ground, as I took my phone to my ear. I checked in on my dad as the sun made its crisp distance clear.

I covered the railroad tracks with my feet and our words, until I made it to the post office, where I said good-bye and checked my mail.

In my box was a book, newly out and about, written by the guy I don't really know but still think of as friend, based on the few days we spent together, trying to change the world.

I meant to pick up the mail, and then go get myself a coffee and walk myself home, to start my writing day.  So I walked to the cafe, the hardcover book cover soft in my hands. But instead, I got the coffee and asked for some quiche. I sat down at a table, and I began to read.

They say that when a book is great, you cannot stop reading until you get straight to the end.
But I say that when a book is great, there is no such thing as going tooooo. Slow.

I sat inside its pages. I read forward and back. I lingered in every detail, the beauty of its efficiency and the devastation of its words. I allowed my heart to seek to look to move.

That's power.
(That is power, my friend.)

From Friday to Friday, 26

[When whatever ends up on my phone, ends up here.]

Today I am Writing: On Voice

I was standing in the crowded line, waiting to order my decaf Americano. It was a Sunday afternoon that was beginning to feel like fall, with just enough sunshine to make it feel like a summery gift.

It had been a long week, and an early morning. I was lost in my own world, covered by my shades and overwhelmed by the press of the people. I was working very hard to ignore them, in fact, pretending I didn't notice that there was anyone standing near me.

But here's the thing about pretending: you always pretend in response to something.

Because there were, in fact, people standing next to me.

I knew it was a man who was taller than me, and a woman who was not. And I knew the man was holding a small child.

Other than that, I felt no need to know.

In my haze and fog, it took me a while to notice that the child was speaking, in high pitched little adorable clips. But as if leading me out of a tunnel, the voice began to draw me until I realized: Wait--I know that little voice.

I turned and sure enough: There was Solomon, my two-year-old piano lesson friend, standing with his mom and his dad, waiting to order a "samwit."

"He saw you in the parking lot," his mom said. And then we all delighted in the moment.

Later, I thought about the gift of a voice you recognize, when you are lost in a tunnel of your own making.

It's about belonging somewhere, to someone.

And it's about not hardening your heart, when you hear the voice you know, calling you back to the world.

Today I am Writing: On Counting Down the DAYS

If you're following the Friday to Fridays: No. I did not get a cat.

I am, however, cat-sitting. And while at first I found her to be a sweet-enough companion, all truth be told?

I am counting down the days.

There is cat-related clutter all over my house. There is cat hair all over my chairs. There is cat pee all over my blankets, the only thing keeping there from being cat pee all up in my bed.

While the cat prowls around the edges of my house, keeping an eye out on every window ledge, I am the one about to tinker over.

And I'm sure there's a lesson in here somewhere, but for right now the best I can do is to remember: Only 2 more days to go.

From Friday to Friday, 25

[When whatever ends up on my phone, ends up here.]

From Friday to Friday, 24

[When whatever ends up on my phone, ends up here.]

Today I am Writing: On Being Witnessed

Today there is emotion, lying just beneath the film of my eyes.

And I notice, today, all the places my heart feels broken.

And I think, with all of my instincts to remain privately maintained, perhaps it is time to let someone witness.

Me.