Over the last several days, I begin to question my writing, my purpose, my urge to tell this story. Followers and readers of my blog, thank you for listening.
During the holidays, I severed my connection with bdlheart and quietly sat in agitated sadness, questioning bdlheart, and wondering if my writing was relevant. This holiday season, instead of taking the artificial Christmas tree from the attic and decorating the house, I sat on a yoga mat and breathed, thought about healing from the past, but mostly about what the present looks like now that the past has altered in perspective.
During the winter solstice, I decided to let go of fear so love of life can take its place. Auntie talked to me on the phone during Christmas and mentioned my writing. She began reading from books which she said reminded her of me. One in particular, was about the necessity of writing to continue learning about your life. I was silently touched that she believed in me and believed in my writing so much.
Auntie said it was 90 in California. It was 40 in Indiana. My spirit felt warmed up as I hung up the phone. Last night I wrote 7,000 words.