To Be Free

Last night, I attended the "Let Freedom Ring" open mic event at The Bookstore in the Grove to honor our country's Independence day. Many writers read about the freedoms provided by our country and the forefathers (and foremothers) who made it possible. To many attendees at this event, freedom is the ability to do or say what you want, but what if you feel freedom from ending a relationship? The end of my relationship brought to light how much I lost myself to be with this person. I was no longer doing anything to take care of myself or make myself happy. I felt trapped because I continued to work on a relationship that had no solution or possibility of growth. The relationship was no longer loving or supportive, but a web of insecurity, power play, deceit, lies and cover-ups. So, on this day that we celebrate the struggles and achievements of our countries' pursuit of freedom, I am grateful for being freed of a relationship that was doing me much more harm than benefit, and knowing that in due time, I will be freed from him permanently. Oh, to be free!

Writer's Block

Every summer, I am confronted with sitting down and writing out my story ideas and novel outlines created during the school year. With little to no time available to write during the school year (managing a department including my duties as a Reading Coach, getting my Master's, presenting professional development workshops, writing grants, sponsoring two student clubs, participating in academies, working out and dating again), I barely have enough energy to pick up a novel for enjoyment. Eat, Pray, Love took me five months to finish, much to my best friend's astonishment and comment -You're still reading that?!?!? The same person who read the entire Harry Potter series in a week. Yes, a week. June approaches with the hopes of pursuing what I truly love and finally put down these stories occupying parts of my soul. But here is the free time. I'm finished with the workshops and my conference in Phoenix is two weeks away. I have professional development workshop presentations set for August, but it is not at the forefront of my mind. So, why can't I write?

L / O / V / E

I hate that he has made me feel this way about love. That I can't look at a Neruda or Wordsworth poem without the cynicism creeping in between the words. Certain songs make my stomach churn with disgust. Instead of writing seamless expressions of love, I compose a formal dissolution in a language foreign to my heart. He is not the man painted into my memories from our wedding or the work of art I configured in my mind. Now, memories conflict with the present and, something that was so difficult to keep together, has effortlessly dissolved itself into nothing.