I knew, unconsciously, when I uploaded this that it was garbage. I mean, the only credit I give myself is basically having the good sense to attract and keep someone with an accent.
But here’s the difference: somehow, despite the glaring lack of any essential quality to a single thing I do for my job, I have little to fear where Covid-19 is concerned.
But in the midst of all of those “problems” or “failures” is a simple story about Dr Marry and his keys. A story he told me sometime in early May that has stuck with me, like so much of what he has casually said in these three+ years since he got sober.
But I was determined not to throw them out only to go and purchase two more chairs. And, truthfully, I really didn’t care all that much. Like most of us, we don’t use our living room all that often, so it was kind of an out of sight, out of mind thing. Also, I’m so not a “matching living room furniture set” kind of person.
One of Michael’s recent posts extolled the virtues of an opportunity he had had a number of years ago to attend/audit a course through Parsons School of Design called Creative Careers. The whole email (and frankly all of them) was really interesting, but I truly loved this sentence:
Renaissance Weekend changed me–made me question everything I thought I knew about who I was and how I was perceived. But it also opened my eyes and forced me to confront some of my own prejudices and stereotypes. I guess my ultimate take away is that one person’s remarkable might be another’s so, so ordinary, so we all better get comfortable defining ourselves for ourselves and keep trying to shake off what other people seem to think.
For one moment, the Earth stopped spinning and everything stood completely still as I darted my eyes out to the gaping-mouthed crowd. Then it started up again, and I turned my full attention to the audience, determined to take control of this preposterous moment…
I never doubted that Quinn and I would get out of our circumstances. I certainly didn’t know how I was going to ever earn much money, but it was just a given that I would eventually pull us out of that poverty and into the middle class. In fact, it was such a given that until I read this article earlier this week, I could never have even articulated this very notion. It was as factual to me as breathing or blinking or walking–nothing to think about because it’s just a simple fact.
This time around, I have let my mind, my gloriously creative imagination, wander to what ifs that are actually within my grasp. I’m not exactly sure how I’ll get there, but that’s part of the journey that I think you can’t understand until you’ve walked a pretty significant piece of it.
So today I sit in my sunroom, overlooking the yard where we happily celebrated making this commitment to each other 12 years ago, and think, as I often have done in these past three years, what if I hadn’t held on?