If you don't live, you don't have anything to say. I have lived, and my god, but I've lived a little too much and too hard at times.
These days, my favorite hours are spent writing or with my son and husband, surfing and romping the Atlantic coast. I loathe when people say "Have a blessed day," but I've had a blessed life or a charmed life or a lucky one, however you want to dub it.
During my early twenties, many people predicted that I would grow up to be a bag lady or go insane or both. I was too sensitive. No one really expected me to be successful at anything, but I've been a good student, a school teacher, a mom, a surrogate mom, and a novelist. Lately, I'm building barn doors for my house because a hollow door, in my opinion, is a pointless door. I'm making dresses and art and writing like a fiend. Two new books on the way: Lost in the Beehive and George Glass Loves Lily Snow.
Did I ever doubt myself? Sometimes. But not as much as you'd think. I've set goals for myself, often unspoken, and I've decided as I've gotten older and wiser, to be nice to myself. The world isn't such a nice place sometimes. We'd better be good to ourselves. I was not always kind to myself, but I always persevered. I could be hit, knocked down, duped, and still make my history exam and leave with a perfect score. My life was pretty fucked up for a long time. Sigh. I was never stupid, just mistaken about what love is and what love means. I thought it meant pain and sacrifice and dramatics. Only later, after years of looking inward, did I understand that it meant kindness and peacefulness and goodness. First and foremost, friendship. I could write a book About Me.
I love my husband. He was my best friend for ten years. I love my son. He is my sunshine. I love my dog and my lizard and my extended family. Life is good. When I was younger, I used to panic if life was too good; I'd think my own death or a family member's death was imminent. Who was I to deserve such happiness?
Who am I to deserve happiness? I am just like you! I am worthy! We don't know the hands we're dealt, and that's why we live day-to-day, reveling in the joy we find. Into the fire. I am a marshmallow, crispy scorched black on the outside and gooey white on the inside. Mmmmm.
Eat me up.