"Part of being optimistic is keeping
one's head pointed toward the sun, one's feet moving forward." - Nelson
Mandela
Those days I wrote, forming memory into incredibly textured characters. My narrative was powerful and relentless. But then, I never expect people to read my private thoughts.
And I used to blog-hopped. Some blogs I skipped but some stories caught my attention. Each story was vital, cracking open a dialogue about what was kept secret and how those secrets shaped lives. The narrative was direct and unflinching, pulling you, challenging you, the kind of read where you sit and wonder, oh my god what happens next.
But between those moments, I hit pause and look back, allowing me to breathe in air and reflect on my own story…
Days they pass so quickly now,
the nights are seldom long
the nights are seldom long
Time around me whispers when it’s cold
The changes somehow frightens me,
still I have to smile
still I have to smile
It turns me on to think of growing old…
For though my life’s been good to me,
there’s still so much to do
there’s still so much to do
So many things my mind has never known
I’d like to sail away and dance
across the mountains on the moon…
across the mountains on the moon…
(R.I.P. John Denver)
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