Fear is more than just a dirty word.

It chills my hands, my feet, my chest. It sends shivers up my spine, ripples through my core. It freezes me.

It clogs my throat. It keeps me from speaking, from singing, from breathing. It keeps me from thinking, from doing, from being. It immobilizes me.

It radiates from my center, permeates everything around me. It destroys my confidence. It debilitates me.

Fear controls my life.

Somehow, I have to fight it. Somehow, I have to overcome it. Somehow, somehow, somehow…

With a name comes power. Now that I know the name of this unspeakable and overwhelming foe, I can defeat it.

I have the power.

Fear had better watch its back.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.

Clickity Tweet

I love the clickity-clack of high heels on marble floors, especially when they’re my high heels. Wearing them makes me feel very grown up, sophisticated, important. But I also feel like a bit of a fraud. I’ve been eighteen for fifteen years and still expect someone to see through me. Any moment now, someone will see that I have no idea what I’m doing; that, despite my best efforts, I don’t have this whole responsible adult thing figured out at all, not even a little bit; that I’m just a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet. And when they figure it out, I just know it will be in front of a huge crowd of people and I’ll be humiliated, exposed for all the world to see.

I love the simple joy of the sun on my skin on a warm summer day. Alone in a meadow with the sun shining down on my upturned face, it’s easy to forget about the hustle and bustle of daily life. The birds sing gaily, their song carried far and wide by the gentle breeze, and there’s peace. My doubts can’t find me here; it’s just the sun and the birds and the grass and me, and there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.

(c) 2017. All rights reserved.


To begin with, go read this post by rarasaur.  Trust me, you won’t regret it.

Finished?  Okay, then.

I loved the first line.  After all, how can you not love a reference to Pride and Prejudice?  It’s only one of the best books ever written.  But if you read the rest of the post (and the rest of her blog), it’s amazing.  It’s simultaneously powerful and empowering, and I want so badly to be able to write like that.

To make people feel things.  In their gut.

To feel things myself.  And not in the way that I normally feel things, which is superficial, like someone doing a white-glove check to see how dusty my mantle is.  I want to feel things with every ounce of my soul, every fiber of my being.

I’m tired of being enveloped in bubble wrap.

But I don’t know how to get rid of it.

Fear is powerful.  And I think it guides too much of my behavior.

Time to do something about that.

Time to get naked.

What about you?  Do you feel things in your gut, or do things wash over you like waves upon sand?  Do you blog naked?

(c) 2015.  All rights reserved.

Photo 365 #35


I was 17 when the twin towers fell.  It was one of the scariest days of my life, and I was nearly 1100 miles away from Ground Zero.

I watched the events unfold that day on the news.  I saw the first plane hit just before I left for school, and I spent the rest of the day watching the news – no one seemed able to turn it off.  Everyone was in a panic.

Propaganda abounded in the days that followed – I still have a few things that circulated after the attacks.  “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue” is still a favorite song, and every time I hear it, I’m reminded of the days and weeks after September 11, 2001, when patriotism was at a high point and all my friends wanted to enlist to kick Osama where it counted.

But these stickers also hail from that era, as do the ones beneath them.  And every last one depicts a peace sign, whether it’s one like in this picture or a frog holding up two fingers.  I was afraid the attacks on New York would hurtle us headlong into a war the likes of which hadn’t been seen in sixty years.  I feared my home would be the next target.  I feared a lot of things, but I also prayed for peace.

Even at 17, I knew that not all Muslims are the same, just as not all Jews are the same, not all Christians are the same, not all Hindus are the same.  Extremists and terrorists exist in all cultures, all religions, and we shouldn’t judge the majority of a culture by the acts of the minority.  I hoped that my country would emerge from the ashes of that day stronger and more resilient.

Tonight, after supper was cleaned up and Bubbles had opened his birthday gifts…

Facing fear

100_2329Once again, a Writing 101 challenge.  Today’s topic: My worst fear.

I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but my worst fear is that I’ll die before my kids are grown up.  My memories of my mom are fragmented; sometimes I remember things that don’t seem possible, and other times I recall things with crystal clarity.

But mostly, I don’t remember.  I don’t remember very much about my childhood before my mom died.  I would really, really hate for my kids to say the same.  I’ve always worried about it, which is why I stayed at home with Bubbles the first two years of his life.

The only problem is that…