Life. Today.

The other day as I meandered home along the ocean’s edge, I was so overcome with gratitude for the ability to walk that I began to cry.

Today I ran next to my daughter for the first time in 9 months. I didn’t run fast and I was aware of every potential hole in the ground but the joy on her face was unmistakable. The joy in my heart was divine.


I opened my mailbox today to find a magazine with my first published writing in it. As I reread what I wrote, I wondered at myself. What was I thinking? People who know me might actually read it and oh my – what have I done? I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so naked. Maybe that’s the way every writer feels. I thought about ignoring it, about sweeping its existence to a back corner of my mind so that it would only be by chance that a friend or acquaintance might stumble on it and wonder if it was me.

The piece is called The Shape of the Last 20 Years and it’s in Hip Mama Zine’s Body Issue.**  I hadn’t read it since I submitted it and it was a shock to realize that was before I knew I was pregnant with Ben. This pregnancy drew a line down the center of my life. It ended a chapter and started what has become a whole new book. I reread my piece and wondered who that girl was. Though I know her intimately, I am no longer her. I am  – vulnerable, exhausted, exhilarated, naked – me.

** You can see my name in print at this link but it’s $5 for the issue, either paper or digital.

This entry was posted in Life After Benjamin. Bookmark the permalink.

0 Responses to Life. Today.

  1. hahahaha. i know that feeling of over-exposure, that oh-my-goodness-what-on-earth-was-i-thinking. the situation, though, of seeing that piece now must be like being at the grocery store and running into an old friend you haven’t seen for a while. honestly, i think this (the seeing the article now when so much has changed) is a good story in and of itself. but mostly what i want to say is: congratulations. and love you.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *