Me! It’s all I know. Actually, it’s an exaggeration to say that I know myself. But it’s someplace to start… I have experienced spontaneous bursts of self-expression throughout my life, but mostly I shut myself down. Once in a twisted cry for recognition I put my writing on the curb in front of the apartment where I was trying to make a life as a single mom. I equated being an adequate parent with sacrificing myself. It didn’t work.
Why share my odyssey with the world by publishing my thoughts here? Well, I’m in search of a voice. I’ve been talking to myself all my life. Now I want to talk out loud. Even I can hear myself better that way.
Striving to find a voice at my age! It’s a little discouraging to realize I never had one. And exhilarating that it’s not too late, that “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” (George Eliot, though some would argue this.) I’m making a practice of writing every day; surely I’ve been told often enough throughout my life writing is what I should do. And it’s in my Irish blood. Still, my ageist inner voice denigrates it, makes comparisons to late-in-life sports cars and tap dancing lessons. And whether I view it as a desperate impulse, a last attempt at fulfillment or a step forward in an evolutionary process that will continue beyond this old age, I might as well do it. Because, what’s the difference? I need a project and I’ve decided to make it finding my voice.
Perennial Beauty 