On My Way

Words and I have had the strangest and most intense relationship for as long as I can remember. An ambivalent relatuonship I like to say as I both love words and I hate them. (More about that in posts to come.) Words have been close companions, sparring partners, lanterns in the dark, and sources of comfort when all human comfort eluded me. To say nothing of the vast amounts of knowledge and scads of insight I picked up along the way. Damned handy tools to have in my arsenal it turns out. I have been told all my life by people I admire and respect that I should write a book. So this is me starting out to do just that. I intend to write here every day for one year and see where I am a year from today. I anticipate gaps (giving myself a built-in “out clause”). I anticipate frustration. I anticipate hair-pulling, gnashing, wailing and carefully curated whining. I am extremely good at suffering. Ultimately, I anticipate a sort of soul satisfaction simply by putting out into the world what has milled about in my head and heart for eons. Well, okay, decades. Tomorrow is March 15, the ides of March. Traditionally it marks a turning point. It certainly did for Julius Caesar. Similarly, I hope to kill off the doubt, insecurities, and ennui that have held me back from becoming a “real writer” in this world, on this plane, in this time. Such a broad term “writing.” My life has been infused with all the juicy stuff required for riveting writing: tragedy, love, pathos, violence, comedy, struggle, humiliation, triumph, achievements, births, deaths, family dysfunction and tenderness. Love – as I understand it – has always led the way. You, dear reader, are my accountability tribe. If you are onboard with me on my journey, give me a like or a ribbing, or anything but a virtual poisoned dart. I cannot abide trolls. So let’s see how I do over the next 364 days. One to five minutes at a time.