today, on this eve of my 29th year of life, i reminisce. i wonder. i'm happy. i'm sad.
it's
hard to believe that seven years ago tomorrow, i was in the midst of
the worst day of my life. my biggest heartbreak. my reaching up to rock
bottom. goodbyes are hard. part of me knew when i got a call on the 23rd
of december seven years ago to come to louisiana to say goodbye that he
would go on my birthday. i remember calling my mom, too shocked to cry
telling her we needed to go NOW. i remember holding his hand. playing
him one last song on the guitar. doing my best to keep it together, for
him, for me, for his dad, for my mom. i was losing the biggest part of
my life. the part of my life i had spent six years loving.
the
morning of the 28th i was back at work and my phone rang. when i saw my
mom's name pop up, i knew. i knew i'd miss him forever. i knew that
every day i would think of him. i didn't know how i would go on. i
didn't know how to survive when he wasn't there to love, to care for.
in
retrospect, i know that a lot of things in my life would have been a
lot harder if i hadn't lost him when i was so young. it seems most of my
late teens/early twenties was plagued with the death of people i loved.
it made me strong. they made me strong. they still make me strong.
in
the midst of my rock bottom of losing him, i met someone. someone else who changed my life. i met him at the wrong time. we
were so right, but i wasn't done healing. i wasn't over it,
not that i'll ever be. i wasn't done falling apart. and i had to fall
apart to be made whole again.
some days i wonder if part of my
soul will always want for what could never be. i'm so beyond blessed in
my life today. i am happy that somehow along the
way i did something right to deserve this life.
i wanted so much
for my life. here i am, a year and a day away from the big 3-0, and i
have to say that i am exactly where i want to be, even if i had to
endure some curves and some heartache along the way. those curves, those
heartaches made me who i am, and brought me here, to this place, with a beautiful daughter who is so
full of spunk and life. i sold myself short when i dreamed of her, she
is so much more than i ever wished for. more than i ever thought
possible. she is beautiful and smart, energetic and full of heart. i
have a job that pays the bills and puts more than enough food on the
table. i have a family who is second to none.
i always miss my
allen (and bull) family. i always love them. and every day, especially
on this day, i think of them fondly, dearly, and with all of my heart.
i'll never forget the shy boy on the steps of church camp who couldn't
get the nerve to ask out an older girl. the same boy with whom i spent
his last days loving with my whole heart, singing to sleep, and praying
for to heal. i'll never forget that boy who taught me to love, who
taught me strength and weakness, who taught me that it's ok to hurt, and
cry. who taught me how to dream. but most of all, who taught me that
it's ok to be ok when things are beyond your control.
i finally
feel like i'm healing. i'm hoping to pick up my guitar again soon. i'm
hoping to play my daughter songs and fill our home with music like mine
was growing up. i want her to sing and dance, and know that part of me. i
managed christmas this year without a complete and total meltdown. baby
steps. we don't heal at once. sometimes it takes a while. i'm happy to
be ending this chapter known as my twenties. i'm ready for my next
chapter, ready to meet the challenge. ready to embrace it with open
arms. ready to heal. ready to be ok.
and finally, i am. i am ok.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
White Trash Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas an' all thru the park, wasn't nuttin to hear, 'cept a mew, and a bark.
The stockings were hung by the fake fireplace, in hopes that ol' fat guy would soon show his face.
The kids was asleep with the little tv on, and screen doors were slamming, the flying pigs on the lawn.
Mimi in the kitchen was finishing the pie, and papa was online tossing the die.
When out in the street there came a loud crash,
They'd hoped the ol' cats weren't into the trash.
When they looked out the winder they gasped dern right heavy,
They thought the drunk neighbor done crashed his ol' Chevy.
The street light shone down on the pavement below, gave just enough light to the crash scene down low.
When what to their baffled brains did appear,
But a ol' beat up sled, led by eight ten-point deer.
The little ol' driver snubbed out his last cig, I wondered how fat man got up on that rig.
Mo' fast than the police his curses they came. He coughed and he choked as he called them by name.
Dern dasher and dancer, git on prancer and vixen. Git on Comet and Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen.
To the end of the street and over the wall, Git on you ol' reindeer, git over, ya all!
Gravel and dust like a ternader did fly, got to the ol' brick wall, and was up in the sky.
Above metal rooftops those derned reindeer flew with that beat up ol' sled, an' ol' fat boy too.
And then in a flash was heard on the roof, the scuffles and clumsy of all them dern hooves.
Put their heads in the door and was turnin' around when thru the big picture winder, fat boy came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red 'cept his hair and his boots and that suit was all dirty with ashes and soot.
A bag full of presents he swung right around and looked like a burgler 'bout to make his first round.
His eyes sorta twinkled and his dimples would kill ya, looked like he'd been dippin' 'to papa's tequila.
His lips was drawn up into a right smile and the beard on his chin was as long as a mile!
The butt of a cig held tight 'tween his teeth, and the smoke done made smelly the new Christmas wreath.
He had a round face and a big round belly, shook the house when he laughed like a jar o' Mimi's jelly.
He looked fat and hungry that ol' Christmas crook, knew his ol' lady back home musta been a good cook.
He winked right away and turned his fat neck They knew about then wasn't nuttin' to fret.
He said not a word and went on to his job, filled all the stockings and turned with a nod. Packages flung under the tree that did twinkle, then out in a flash back thru the winder.
He climbed in his sled and cursed them to go, bet he was wishin' the south got some snow. Heard him yell loud as he drove to the sky, "Happy Christmas ya all and have a good night!"
The stockings were hung by the fake fireplace, in hopes that ol' fat guy would soon show his face.
The kids was asleep with the little tv on, and screen doors were slamming, the flying pigs on the lawn.
Mimi in the kitchen was finishing the pie, and papa was online tossing the die.
When out in the street there came a loud crash,
They'd hoped the ol' cats weren't into the trash.
When they looked out the winder they gasped dern right heavy,
They thought the drunk neighbor done crashed his ol' Chevy.
The street light shone down on the pavement below, gave just enough light to the crash scene down low.
When what to their baffled brains did appear,
But a ol' beat up sled, led by eight ten-point deer.
The little ol' driver snubbed out his last cig, I wondered how fat man got up on that rig.
Mo' fast than the police his curses they came. He coughed and he choked as he called them by name.
Dern dasher and dancer, git on prancer and vixen. Git on Comet and Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen.
To the end of the street and over the wall, Git on you ol' reindeer, git over, ya all!
Gravel and dust like a ternader did fly, got to the ol' brick wall, and was up in the sky.
Above metal rooftops those derned reindeer flew with that beat up ol' sled, an' ol' fat boy too.
And then in a flash was heard on the roof, the scuffles and clumsy of all them dern hooves.
Put their heads in the door and was turnin' around when thru the big picture winder, fat boy came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red 'cept his hair and his boots and that suit was all dirty with ashes and soot.
A bag full of presents he swung right around and looked like a burgler 'bout to make his first round.
His eyes sorta twinkled and his dimples would kill ya, looked like he'd been dippin' 'to papa's tequila.
His lips was drawn up into a right smile and the beard on his chin was as long as a mile!
The butt of a cig held tight 'tween his teeth, and the smoke done made smelly the new Christmas wreath.
He had a round face and a big round belly, shook the house when he laughed like a jar o' Mimi's jelly.
He looked fat and hungry that ol' Christmas crook, knew his ol' lady back home musta been a good cook.
He winked right away and turned his fat neck They knew about then wasn't nuttin' to fret.
He said not a word and went on to his job, filled all the stockings and turned with a nod. Packages flung under the tree that did twinkle, then out in a flash back thru the winder.
He climbed in his sled and cursed them to go, bet he was wishin' the south got some snow. Heard him yell loud as he drove to the sky, "Happy Christmas ya all and have a good night!"
Friday, December 14, 2012
Tragedy, defined.
Just a few thoughts about this horrific day. It's a tragedy.
trag·e·dy
/ˈtrajidē/
Noun
An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
People lost "loved ones," the news said. "Loved ones," a term people use when a second cousin dies in a car accident. "Loved ones," a beloved grandparent who has lived and loved for a lifetime. "Loved ones," a person who knew what being a "loved one" is. These were CHILDREN. Innocent, precious, no doubt loved, but how can we label these children with a name we use for people who have LIVED a life? Not saying that my views on loved ones consists of old people and second cousins, or that they don't matter, because they do. They are loved, they leave a void. They will be missed. These children were so much more than "loved ones." They were babies. No child should have to hear and see their friends get shot up by some deranged psychopath who has it out for someone who happens to be a teacher.
Bear with me, I'm going here. Call me a liberal, call me a gun hater, call me whatever, stop reading. Fine. But, a gun, by definition,
gun[ guhn ]
noun
1. a weapon consisting of a metal tube, with mechanical attachments, from which projectiles are shot by the force of an explosive; a piece of ordnance.
A weapon, by definition,
weap·on
/ˈwepən/
Noun
A thing designed or used for inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.
Something designed or used for "inflicting bodily harm or physical damage."
They say guns don't kill people, that people kill people. Without a gun, a person would wield a knife, or a bomb, or a fist, or whatever "weapon" they choose. Guns DO kill people. Guns have killed people I have known and loved. A gun killed a four-year-old in Houston last week. He pulled the trigger himself.
So many are so willing to say stop the violence, but these same people say that we have a right to carry these "weapons" with us wherever we go. Sure, maybe if this teacher or another person in that school had carried a "weapon" they could have retaliated and killed that jerk before he could kill so many kids.
As a parent I worry that someday a student might bring a "weapon" into my kids' schools. Now, I worry that a deranged stranger has that opportunity. As a parent, I was relieved to have gotten an email on safety precautions and emergency situations from my daughter's preschool to put my mind at ease about my baby while she's at school.
school
/sko͞ol/
Noun
An institution for educating children.
I want my daughter to be educated. I want her to know that there are wonderful things in this world. I don't want her to HAVE to know that there are bad things and people out there that cause harm for no reason. I don't her to have to know the definition of violence first hand.
vi·o·lence
/ˈvī(ə)ləns/
Noun
Behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something.
Strength of emotion or an unpleasant or destructive natural force.
These are things we should be protecting our kids from, and, if you see it fit, educating them on proper use. No child should be left in the dark wondering, is that my friend getting shot? Is that my little sister crying in the next room? Is that my brother that just screamed for help?
End the violence. It's so easy to say, so impossible to implement. Educate yourselves, your children, your spouses, your "loved ones" on what to do in an emergency situation. Report suspicious people. Be suspicious of people who are out of place. Ask questions. Seek knowledge. Be. Smart.
And hug your kids. Let your loved ones know they are loved.
trag·e·dy
/ˈtrajidē/
Noun
An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
People lost "loved ones," the news said. "Loved ones," a term people use when a second cousin dies in a car accident. "Loved ones," a beloved grandparent who has lived and loved for a lifetime. "Loved ones," a person who knew what being a "loved one" is. These were CHILDREN. Innocent, precious, no doubt loved, but how can we label these children with a name we use for people who have LIVED a life? Not saying that my views on loved ones consists of old people and second cousins, or that they don't matter, because they do. They are loved, they leave a void. They will be missed. These children were so much more than "loved ones." They were babies. No child should have to hear and see their friends get shot up by some deranged psychopath who has it out for someone who happens to be a teacher.
Bear with me, I'm going here. Call me a liberal, call me a gun hater, call me whatever, stop reading. Fine. But, a gun, by definition,
gun[ guhn ]
noun
1. a weapon consisting of a metal tube, with mechanical attachments, from which projectiles are shot by the force of an explosive; a piece of ordnance.
A weapon, by definition,
weap·on
/ˈwepən/
Noun
A thing designed or used for inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.
Something designed or used for "inflicting bodily harm or physical damage."
They say guns don't kill people, that people kill people. Without a gun, a person would wield a knife, or a bomb, or a fist, or whatever "weapon" they choose. Guns DO kill people. Guns have killed people I have known and loved. A gun killed a four-year-old in Houston last week. He pulled the trigger himself.
So many are so willing to say stop the violence, but these same people say that we have a right to carry these "weapons" with us wherever we go. Sure, maybe if this teacher or another person in that school had carried a "weapon" they could have retaliated and killed that jerk before he could kill so many kids.
As a parent I worry that someday a student might bring a "weapon" into my kids' schools. Now, I worry that a deranged stranger has that opportunity. As a parent, I was relieved to have gotten an email on safety precautions and emergency situations from my daughter's preschool to put my mind at ease about my baby while she's at school.
school
/sko͞ol/
Noun
An institution for educating children.
I want my daughter to be educated. I want her to know that there are wonderful things in this world. I don't want her to HAVE to know that there are bad things and people out there that cause harm for no reason. I don't her to have to know the definition of violence first hand.
vi·o·lence
/ˈvī(ə)ləns/
Noun
Behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something.
Strength of emotion or an unpleasant or destructive natural force.
These are things we should be protecting our kids from, and, if you see it fit, educating them on proper use. No child should be left in the dark wondering, is that my friend getting shot? Is that my little sister crying in the next room? Is that my brother that just screamed for help?
End the violence. It's so easy to say, so impossible to implement. Educate yourselves, your children, your spouses, your "loved ones" on what to do in an emergency situation. Report suspicious people. Be suspicious of people who are out of place. Ask questions. Seek knowledge. Be. Smart.
And hug your kids. Let your loved ones know they are loved.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
shape shifting
i'm not entirely sure what i'm writing about. i felt the need to express.
i just finished editing an awesome family session and it made my heart full. i don't think my life would be complete without photography. it lets me see things in a way that not many people see them. from this angle, or that. through this lens or that one. it helps me cope. it helps me find myself. i'm never happier than when i'm shooting. i zone out. it's wonderful.
i used to be this way with my guitar. with my voice. maybe my outlet has shifted. these days, it's hard to get through a song or a christmas carol without choking. i haven't brought myself to get out my guitar since my last post. maybe i'm busy. maybe i'm tired. but maybe i'm scared to face ol' hazel again. afraid hazel will have forgotten me. or worse, that i have forgotten. i used to play for hours in my empty apartment with the windows open with an open notebook and a pencil. and as i sit here, typing, i glance down at these lyrics...
maybe over time my eyes have jaded / and thru it all i know that life has faded / seems that nothing's quite the same / maybe i'm the one to blame
maybe i am to blame. maybe i'm changing. growing. shifting. i still LOVE to write. and my life is full of music. just not mine. it still hurts to sing. it still hurts to play. my father in law keeps telling me i need to get my guitar out for goose and play for her. i'd play her this song, the one i wrote before i met her. maybe it was for her all along...
i'd give it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
maybe, just maybe, my "choking" is joy, that my dreams have come true. i waited all my life to fall in love. real love. love that makes you crazy. love that makes you hurt when it isn't there. love that makes you feel complete.
maybe life's supposed to be confusing / and over all can be consuming / i know life's a mystery / maybe i should set it free
i spent a lot of my early twenties crying. in hope, in sadness, in desperation, in joy, in regret. in depression. i spent most decembers crying. my little girl changed that for me. the joys in life, they're worth waiting for. they're worth picking yourself, dusting off your pants and keeping on.
maybe tears of hope are overrated / and all the joys in life are long awaited / i want to wait until the day / when i can close my eyes and say // i gave it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
peace. i've finally found peace. i'm at peace when i shoot. i'm at peace when i'm capturing memories, making them last forever. new babies. first kisses. birthday cakes. shredded gift paper. promises. hope. love. joy.
so confusing yet so clear / i don't know but am i near / can i find the bounds of love / want to know it's from above
that's all.
i just finished editing an awesome family session and it made my heart full. i don't think my life would be complete without photography. it lets me see things in a way that not many people see them. from this angle, or that. through this lens or that one. it helps me cope. it helps me find myself. i'm never happier than when i'm shooting. i zone out. it's wonderful.
i used to be this way with my guitar. with my voice. maybe my outlet has shifted. these days, it's hard to get through a song or a christmas carol without choking. i haven't brought myself to get out my guitar since my last post. maybe i'm busy. maybe i'm tired. but maybe i'm scared to face ol' hazel again. afraid hazel will have forgotten me. or worse, that i have forgotten. i used to play for hours in my empty apartment with the windows open with an open notebook and a pencil. and as i sit here, typing, i glance down at these lyrics...
maybe over time my eyes have jaded / and thru it all i know that life has faded / seems that nothing's quite the same / maybe i'm the one to blame
maybe i am to blame. maybe i'm changing. growing. shifting. i still LOVE to write. and my life is full of music. just not mine. it still hurts to sing. it still hurts to play. my father in law keeps telling me i need to get my guitar out for goose and play for her. i'd play her this song, the one i wrote before i met her. maybe it was for her all along...
i'd give it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
maybe, just maybe, my "choking" is joy, that my dreams have come true. i waited all my life to fall in love. real love. love that makes you crazy. love that makes you hurt when it isn't there. love that makes you feel complete.
maybe life's supposed to be confusing / and over all can be consuming / i know life's a mystery / maybe i should set it free
i spent a lot of my early twenties crying. in hope, in sadness, in desperation, in joy, in regret. in depression. i spent most decembers crying. my little girl changed that for me. the joys in life, they're worth waiting for. they're worth picking yourself, dusting off your pants and keeping on.
maybe tears of hope are overrated / and all the joys in life are long awaited / i want to wait until the day / when i can close my eyes and say // i gave it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
peace. i've finally found peace. i'm at peace when i shoot. i'm at peace when i'm capturing memories, making them last forever. new babies. first kisses. birthday cakes. shredded gift paper. promises. hope. love. joy.
so confusing yet so clear / i don't know but am i near / can i find the bounds of love / want to know it's from above
that's all.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
heart-deep.
they say beauty is only skin-deep. that we have to SEE ourselves as beautiful to be beautiful. no woman i know can agree to this. i read a wonderful article yesterday about calling yourself beautiful for your daughters. it hit home.
i grew up with a mom who called me her "beautiful tamera" and i was her spitting image. i still am. this mom who called me beautiful, who did her best to give me everything thought i was beautiful and still does. i'm sure her mom feels the same way about her (and me!). sometimes my mom still calls me beautiful and i wonder how she can see it. i realize now, now that i have a daughter, how it's possible. even on her ugliest, fit-throwing, biting all the kids at daycare, cookies all over her face, she is my beautiful mess and the day some boy ruins that for her i'm going to be pissed.
i don't want my daughter to grow up thinking oh when i'm old enough to think, i won't be pretty anymore. i won't be beautiful, because i've outgrown it. i want her to know that she's ALWAYS beautiful and that beauty ISN'T skin deep, it's heart-deep. i want her to feel the way i feel about her when she looks at herself in the mirror. so many parents are like "oh, you're going to raise a narcissist." not that i want her to be self-involved or selfish, but i do want her to take pride in herself, not just her actions, but in herself, physically. i want to raise a confident young woman, not a timid, shy little squirrel like i was. i want her to feel in her heart that she is perfect the way she is. that she is beautiful, and she will never learn that, except from me.
i sit here, stained t-shirt from college, legs hairy, split ends, grey hair peeking its way out of my part, hair messy from sleep and i'm suppsed to think all this is beautiful? what am i thinking. heart-deep, tam. heart-deep. i'm "mom-shaped," which means i'm still struggling to lose the seventy pounds i gained when i was pregnant and i also like cookies too much. my clothes hardly ever match, i've got permanent bags under my eyes from lack of sleep over wondering how i'm going to screw up my daughter in this short 18 years that she will live with me, and worrying about money, and my relationship with my husband, and stepdaughter, and whether the dogs are rearranging my living room floor with their teeth.
i have food to eat. i have a bed to sleep in. i have sweet and perfect kids to worry about. i have a home to worry about and i have furry kids.
i have two working legs. i have hair on my head, and i am in good health, and i have the ability to make myself better. i have the ability to be beautiful because beauty isn't skin deep. it's heart-deep.
heart-deep. you have to feel it to believe it. heart-deep. you have to love yourself. heart-deep. your love shows to others. heart. deep. heart-deep.
it's so easy to fall into the "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." i was talking to a friend the other day and i used to play guitar and sing and write and do all this stuff that, now that, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." she told me to make time. make time. heart-deep.
the last memory i have of playing guitar and really loving it was almost six years ago. i've picked up my guitar now and again, but not like that. i haven't played like that. with heart. with soul. with love. with careless abandon to the world around me. my world has changed since then. and i haven't found time in two years to even pick it up because (say it with me), "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." heart-deep. if it's something you love, make time. make time. heart-deep.
i wrote a novel. how many people can say that (besides the obvious published ones)? i wrote a novel that's sitting because, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." it's complete, edited, read over many times by others, query letter written. just needs to find a home with a publisher. it's a story that needs to be shared, and it's something i love. make time. make time. heart-deep.
i could go on about my half-finished projects, my half-finished life, but the point is, if it's something you love, make time. it's heart-deep. if you're doing something you love, you gain the confidence you need to feel "oh, i'm so awesome right now." which, in turn makes you feel pretty inside, which reflects to the outside. so.
make time. make time. heart-deep.
i grew up with a mom who called me her "beautiful tamera" and i was her spitting image. i still am. this mom who called me beautiful, who did her best to give me everything thought i was beautiful and still does. i'm sure her mom feels the same way about her (and me!). sometimes my mom still calls me beautiful and i wonder how she can see it. i realize now, now that i have a daughter, how it's possible. even on her ugliest, fit-throwing, biting all the kids at daycare, cookies all over her face, she is my beautiful mess and the day some boy ruins that for her i'm going to be pissed.
i don't want my daughter to grow up thinking oh when i'm old enough to think, i won't be pretty anymore. i won't be beautiful, because i've outgrown it. i want her to know that she's ALWAYS beautiful and that beauty ISN'T skin deep, it's heart-deep. i want her to feel the way i feel about her when she looks at herself in the mirror. so many parents are like "oh, you're going to raise a narcissist." not that i want her to be self-involved or selfish, but i do want her to take pride in herself, not just her actions, but in herself, physically. i want to raise a confident young woman, not a timid, shy little squirrel like i was. i want her to feel in her heart that she is perfect the way she is. that she is beautiful, and she will never learn that, except from me.
i sit here, stained t-shirt from college, legs hairy, split ends, grey hair peeking its way out of my part, hair messy from sleep and i'm suppsed to think all this is beautiful? what am i thinking. heart-deep, tam. heart-deep. i'm "mom-shaped," which means i'm still struggling to lose the seventy pounds i gained when i was pregnant and i also like cookies too much. my clothes hardly ever match, i've got permanent bags under my eyes from lack of sleep over wondering how i'm going to screw up my daughter in this short 18 years that she will live with me, and worrying about money, and my relationship with my husband, and stepdaughter, and whether the dogs are rearranging my living room floor with their teeth.
i have food to eat. i have a bed to sleep in. i have sweet and perfect kids to worry about. i have a home to worry about and i have furry kids.
i have two working legs. i have hair on my head, and i am in good health, and i have the ability to make myself better. i have the ability to be beautiful because beauty isn't skin deep. it's heart-deep.
heart-deep. you have to feel it to believe it. heart-deep. you have to love yourself. heart-deep. your love shows to others. heart. deep. heart-deep.
it's so easy to fall into the "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." i was talking to a friend the other day and i used to play guitar and sing and write and do all this stuff that, now that, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." she told me to make time. make time. heart-deep.
the last memory i have of playing guitar and really loving it was almost six years ago. i've picked up my guitar now and again, but not like that. i haven't played like that. with heart. with soul. with love. with careless abandon to the world around me. my world has changed since then. and i haven't found time in two years to even pick it up because (say it with me), "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." heart-deep. if it's something you love, make time. make time. heart-deep.
i wrote a novel. how many people can say that (besides the obvious published ones)? i wrote a novel that's sitting because, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." it's complete, edited, read over many times by others, query letter written. just needs to find a home with a publisher. it's a story that needs to be shared, and it's something i love. make time. make time. heart-deep.
i could go on about my half-finished projects, my half-finished life, but the point is, if it's something you love, make time. it's heart-deep. if you're doing something you love, you gain the confidence you need to feel "oh, i'm so awesome right now." which, in turn makes you feel pretty inside, which reflects to the outside. so.
make time. make time. heart-deep.
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