And yet . . . something in me resisted. Recoiled slightly. On the one hand . . . I felt so alone going to court to protect my son from said family member this past year, terrified, on on occasion even crying on the train for an hour in front of strangers (coming from a woman who doesn’t even like her friends to see her cry) . . . this would be a whole movement of people (if successful), holding hands together, “making the men wonder” where we all went? And would they appreciate us now?
Quite honestly, were we still back in time a few decades, I think a well-organized laundry and dinner strike would have been quite effective, to get attention at the very least. But perhaps not it’s not quite so simple. And I’m sure at least one of you reading this wants to slap the shit out of me for that joke.
It's a cliché for a reason. What would you do if you had one more day to live? Or whatever variation . . . the point is the same. It's all about supplying the impetus for some desperate crazy act we wouldn't ordinarily do. And yah, it's kinda valid. I meant to type "yeah" but the typo looks better. Yah, it's kinda valid. Sometimes we need courage and shit. The fear of losing. What would we do differently if . . . ?
And so I realized that my failure to sculpt some beautiful words of literary value was in fact perfect. My father would not have been able to understand them anyway. But something in my heart said that maybe, just maybe, he could still hear me. And so I told him, just from the heart, the things I wanted to say: a simple list, because that's all I had been able to write.
It was a beautiful but cold, cloudy day. I felt anxious as I boarded the boat. What would happen? Would I have some sort of a reaction? I imagined dropping these feelings of violation into the water - if I had still had my wedding ring, I would have dropped it into those murky waves. Since I did not, I performed a sort of internal silent ritual, remembering what had happened, deciding it didn't claim me anymore . . . (keep reading)
Now it so happens that cherry blossoms come in spring - and sometimes that long winter feels interminable. So much bitter cold and lack of light can make it hard to trust in spring coming back. After you lose, and you lose, and you lose again ... you become afraid to believe in love and happiness. But the problem here is any new bit of happiness becomes like a seed you keep wanting to dig up to see if it's growing. If you keep digging up a little plant to see if it has roots, what will happen to it? . . . . (keep reading)
-A life lesson from me (chicken shit) that applies to us all
I used to be a gymnast. I did back walkovers on the high beam, I did flyaways (back flip dismount) off the uneven bars. I did front and back flips and aerials on the floor. I let myself get strapped into a harness and launched off a teeterboard (giant human see saw) and managed to do a triple back flip. All of this is especially ironic, because I was a total chicken.
What do you do if you're a total chicken shit, but you want to have confidence? How do you stop being limited in life when fear is stopping you?