Writing is weighty

Lenten Reflections #21

For me, openly sharing my thoughts in a public forum is weighty. Perhaps it is because I hear my mom’s voice telling me and my sisters, “Be careful what you write down…followed by “and always pay your debts.” The former is what I hear when blogging, and the latter rings in my ears the rest of the day. Respecting Mom’s words, I take heed and trudge forward.

When I began sharing my writing with whomever would read it, I was conscious of the vulnerability clinging to every word. I knew it was a powerful way to connect with others, so I kept writing.

Then, while at my son’s baseball game a few years ago, I thought about this vulnerability and how it plays a sneaky James Bond role in all of our lives.

That sunny day, I sat next to a mom whose son was called up to pitch. As he stepped onto the mound, she turned to the parents in the stands and affirmed in her outside voice, “My son has only pitched ONCE IN HIS LIFE, so I don’t know what’s going to happen!”  I assured her we would not judge her or her son. Plus, now we knew he was hers, so we were bound to keep it positive. She continued as most parents would, by hollering, “Just have fun out there, son, and smile!!!” Roughly translated: don’t get hurt, and please, for the love of all that is holy, throw strikes. (Thankfully, there’s an unheralded empathy for parents who watch their child stand in any goal or dig their cleats into the rubber on a pitcher’s mound. Every parent inherently knows to cheer them on (the kids and the parents).

To be honest, when I started blogging, I kind of wanted my mom to also stand up and yell to the world,

“My daughter has only blogged ONCE IN HER LIFE, so I don’t know what is going to happen!”

She didn’t yell it, but she did encourage me to continue writing stories…and to pay off any debts “even if it is only a nickel!”

What I learned:

“Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked.”  – Anne Lamott

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia