Five Years a Writer

To read PART 1: BEING SEEN , click here When I recounted those two scenarios to a friend, who is straight, she was in equal parts astonished and appalled. “In circumstances with which I am familiar,” she said, “the mention of a spouse or partner would divert the conversation to a bit of social chit chat about that person, possibly the relationship, their work, potentially children — and then the main conversational track would be resumed.” Of course. This is what is understood to be normal, but that didn’t happen in these cases with me. Nor does it happen often. And I’m mostly fine with that. (But why doesn’t it happen? Now that’s an interesting question to ponder…)  I came into (out to) my sexuality in early adulthood and now, in my mid-to-older adulthood, I am confident within myself about who I am. Outside of myself, I have come to be skilled at avoiding personal pronouns in conversations until I trust the person and feel they’re safe. Maybe I am the only person I am fo...

Part 1 It happened twice in quick succession and it caught me by surprise both times. There was only a desk between us, but a chasm of (literal) ignorance was bridged in that moment, and all it took was a simple pronoun.  Each encounter took place in a private office, at my workplace. Both conversations included a personal element that found me recounting a story that included my partner, whom, along the way, I referenced — for the first time with these colleagues — as ‘she’.  In the saying of that 3-letter descriptor, I was aware, in the back of my brain, that I might be sharing information new to the receiver — the literal meaning of ignorance, by the way, is ‘lack of knowledge or information’. And, indeed, from the look on their faces — days apart, offices quite separate one from the other — that detail about me was, radically, new to them.  What happened in an instant — but plays out in slow motion in my memory — was a look of astonishment, then disc...

It’s early morning and dark when I leave the house to walk to the bus stop, but I make it there without incident. I am vigilant when I walk: I move with confidence and intention, eyes open to who and what is sharing the sidewalk with me.  When I arrive at the stop, a few other harmless commuters are already there. We wait together, in silence, just wanting the bus to pick us up, which it does. We are in that pre-work state of automatic motion that takes us from home to office or school. We are together on the bus, but in co-existence not cooperation.  Empty seats are few, but I spy one towards the back. Or, rather, part of the seat is empty. A good portion of it is being occupied by the person spilling over from their side of what should be an equally shared space.  Nonetheless, I sit down, not wanting to not claim my rightful spot on the bus, which is a public good for all. I settle myself onto the seat, trying to inch my way onto my full allotment of the ...

Yes, it's very pink, but it's a good read. Individuals' stories of trials and tribulations and successes in re/inventing themselves.  I like to read autobiographies and biographies -- someone's own story told in book form. I always imagine myself in their place: Would I have had the courage? Taken that chance? Ended up in that same spot? Over the Christmas break, I read Debbie Travis's (very pink) book; I had heard her on the radio and found her charming in how she described her years-long journey to find, renovate and now run a retreat villa in Tuscany.  That's not where I'm headed, but the lessons she outlines as being part of her journey are informative for anyone interested in living their next chapter fully -- whatever that means or wherever it takes place for the person.  I'm parking these thoughts and images on this Five Years a Writer blog as a reminder to myself (and maybe others) that change is empowering and fulfilling when we ...

Almost 30 years ago, I lived in a small house closely situated to the equally small house next door. In the middle of one summer’s night — windows were open — I was wakened by the woman next door saying loudly, fiercely, unequivocally “NO!" Then, silence. I pondered the meaning of what I had heard, then went back to sleep. The next day, the woman's boyfriend moved out. I have always remembered her No and his leaving. I can imagine the mid-night context of her exclamation, and I am quite sure of the next day's action. A powerful learning. Roughly 20 years ago, I worked with a woman for whom No was the opening gambit of just about any conversation. In a position of influence and authority, she would meet a proposal or request with a No, then follow it up with whatever reasoning she deemed appropriate: Too expensive. Not clear enough. Too soon. Too late. Not relevant. Whatever, it didn't matter, because that No, predictable though it became, in fact, pushed us — c...

I dislike New Year's resolutions. Way too much pressure on a person to actually keep them!  But I do like the open door that a new year offers and, with that door, the pathway to new possibilities ahead.  As those possibilities present themselves to me (in whatever shape or form) over the course of 2019, I shall try to keep these guiding thoughts in mind:  Be aware of patterns in my life: Nurture the good ones, ditch the bad ones Listen and speak for the purpose of having conversations ; don’t just say things Make difficult decisions only once; then, simply execute them (i.e., just do it, don't re-make the damn decision) May your New Year be filled with bountiful interesting and productive possibilities. Peace and love to all!  My vision board for 2019

New Year's Eve is fast approaching. That moment of reckoning with myself and the world: Will I get out and into the celebrations or stay in and ignore the hoopla? Of course, it's a no-brainer: Staying in and away from all the hoopla is what I'll do. And have done for the past few years. I've had my share of fun parties and gatherings to ring in the New Year, but am gratefully over the desire to be part of a crowd to enjoy the moment -- which comes well before midnight for me these days! In the previous century, during my early university days, my flatmates and I hosted a New Year's Eve party to which a lot of people came. I remember nothing about it, other than my sense of amazement that people had actually come! Because I remember equally vividly the housewarming party my roommate and I had thrown to which no one came - not. one. person. Mortification doesn't begin to describe the emotional experience of that dreadfully empty evening. And to this day, I c...