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Clam Shells

I write so I won’t forget the simplest, most minute details of this living sandwich unfold.

Take the sun rising and setting, for example. No one goes to bed worried tossing and turning asking ,”I wonder if that ball of fire will take a sabbatical and not show up tomorrow. “

That’s why I write. Because my mind wanders and I can’t remember which exit to take even though I’ve traveled the same road 1000 times before. But I got distracted by some random grandpa holding his granddaughter out on a walk with such immense love that I needed to stop and write about it. Sorry I’m late, but that’s a true story.

I write because I can’t actually believe my life sometimes and documenting it makes it bona fide. Like, see that shizzle? That crazy really did happen. I write because my brain won’t shut off.

And also why do I have to talk to everyone all the time? Just this morning I delivered a sealed clam that I found on the beach to an innocent dad and little girl playing at the water’s edge. I placed it at her feet like an offering and said, “It’s heavy - it's still in there,” and then kept walking. What kind of maniac does that? I do because I don’t know how to do this life any other way.

We’re all a part of this tangled web and we need one another in the smallest and biggest of ways but we pretend like we don’t. Well, I’m calling bullshit on that right now because why were we all dropped here at the same time?

I write so I don’t forget why I came. And so I don’t forget why you came. And when I’m gone there will be words still left and perhaps my daughters will finally know me.

If you feel a lot of the things all of the time, I see you. Sometimes writing helps.



* Thanks to John Roedel for suggesting the book: Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. She asked why do you write so I wrote why I write.

* Prayers appreciated as I travel across the country for a Writing Retreat tonight on a red eye flight. First time travelling without someone waiting for me on the other side. First time going to Martha's Vineyard. First time nervous. First time excited in this way.

Sharing my writing feels incredibly vulnerable. But that’s okay. I trust you. Thank you for that.

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