Being Naked

Welcome To This Writing Experiment

It’s vulnerable to write. More so than anything else I’ve done in life do I feel more free and naked than in my writing. I became a new mother at 40 and lost my own a few years before that. My mother lost her mother when she was a teenager. I don’t know what my grandmother’s mother was like. But I do know that being vulnerable can be mighty important, especially when your daughter is listening. I feel like the whole line of ancestors leans in a bit when you do, too.

So I decided to share this with you— the naked bits of my current life— in hopes that they give a little connection in strange times. It is healing for me to write it at least, and if you get something out of it too, then bully!

A few things to know, should you decide to partake in my particular flavor of love and madness:

Yes, there is a spiritual nature to what I write. I can’t help it. Part of me blanches to talk about it at all as where I come from, any mention of God puts you in the fundamental proselytizing category. I believe one’s relationship with the Mystery is deeply personal and as unique as each individual. Here’s what mine looks like. Take what you like and leave the rest.

All the places and people in here are real. I may change a name or two on occasion, but I will do my best to give the innocent bystanders respect and keep the focus on my own perspective. I ask that you do the same. (Don’t get weird and stalk folks, or judge anybody from what I write about them, in other words.) I’ll also get things wrong, despite my best efforts to get to the essence of something. My apologies in advance.

I also offer this for free. There’s an option to pledge money if it feels good to you, but please know that you taking time to read this is enough. And truly, YOU are enough.(Can we just slip that message into everything we encounter in the internet? Might start a revolution.)

And lastly:

I once asked my mother what she thought the meaning of life was. She said she didn’t think there was a meaning. Then she paused, lit a cigarette, and said, “Telling each other’s stories and recognizing each other.” She also told me once in response to my childhood outrage over Santa Claus that sometimes the things that are most real, you can’t see at all. I’ll introduce more of her as we go, but here’s to her. Here’s to her mother and the mothers before that. Here’s to my daughter. Here’s to Divine Mamma. And here’s to healing in the line of love one day at a time. Thank you for reading.

---