VerseDay 10-3-19

Good morning!

I’m excited to be featuring the astounding and talented Kathryn Balteff. Residing in a state that I have a deep, personal love for (just ask Destiny), she was gracious enough to send in some of her beautiful work that I will be featuring throughout October and into November.

Kathryn is a poet, writer, and artist who currently moonlights as a used book, gift, and coffee shop owner, although over the years she’s also worked as an educator, sheep farmer, veterinary technician, and veterinary practice manager. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Southern Maine and an MA in English from Oakland University.

While she is mostly known for her poetry, she also pens essays, fiction, and killer to-do lists. Drawing inspiration from the landscape, sea, and the cosmos, Kathryn often can be found wandering the rocky trails near her home along the coast of Downeast Maine with her husband and their collie dog, Lady Kate.

Today I chose her poem “Letting Go” as a breather for a lot of the serious business going on here lately. Read, enjoy, and support Kathryn by sharing it around!

 

Letting Go

I feel the winds

Deep in my gut they rise

and stir

Tickling up dust

Particles from items long forgotten

on the floor of my heart.

Maybe they were just tucked away
so I could pretend not to see them as they languished there . . .

All that
is of no consequence.

The winds have come again.

This time

different.

I feel their swirling momentum

reaching up into my being

pushing
tugging
chafing

They spin me

round

and round

I can’t know where they will take me.
I only know —
This time
I will not hold fast to the binding post of the closest excuse
This time
I will stretch open my arms to embrace the power the winds bring

This time
I will raise my face to the sky triumphant
I will soar.

 

Weapons Used Against Me: Racial Inequality in Fort Collins Today

This story was originally supposed to be printed in a newspaper who’s name I won’t mention. They were interested. They wanted it. They gave me their advice on how to ‘soften it’ so as to not offend readers.

I asked what was offensive.

They backpedaled and shuffled their virtual feet and said it didn’t have interview accounts from the police officers involved. I reassured them that I had all of the police reports as well as the actual court documents in my posession.

(Worthy to note, they had no intention of paying me for an already well-researched article but required a lot of unnecessary leg work for the same answers I had right in front of me).

They rejected it, saying it was too emotional, that it would make people uncomfortable.

Ultimately, I feel, they feared that the potential backlash would hurt their advertisers.

I don’t have advertisers.

Hell, I barely have a following. But here we are.

I could have abandoned it, given in to the fear of upsetting the city council, or the jail system, or the law enforcement or DA offices.

But then this quote from the Talmud comes to mind:

“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

So here’s the article that was too uncomfortable for the newspaper to print. Here’s what’s happening in your community today. Do what you will with the information, but do justly, love mercy, walk humbly, and do not abandon the work.

 

Weapons Used Against Me: Racial Inequality in Fort Collins Today

 

Staring out the rain-speckled window at a coffee shop in downtown Fort Collins, Queen (formally Dedria Johnson) bows her head into her hands. The heavy blanket of gray outside mirrors the burden in her heart.

That’s the way it feels, she says; when your son has been stolen by a system so large and corrupt that you’ll never own enough power to get him back.

Like the world will always be gray and heavy.

Queen moved with her sons to Fort Collins in 2007 after escaping an abusive relationship. She hoped to secure a brighter future for them. She thought Colorado’s Front Range could offer that.

But the same oppression, disadvantage, and racial segregation lay beneath a false sense of community.

On an early summer night in 2018, with the boiling point mixture of teenage hormones and escalating tension between two young men, a fight broke out in a deserted lot between Loveland and Fort Collins. The teens surrounding the action pulsed with on-edge excitement. The bright glow of cell phones lit the darkness and videos skyrocketed out into social media. Witnesses would later say they could see the victim’s teeth flying through the air when the other boy hit him. By the time the police came, the fight was done and online.

Dontre’ Jahkal Woods, Queen’s son, was at the fight and recorded it from the sidelines along with other teens in the crowd.

Only Dontre’ had already had been suspected of throwing a rock through a car window (an incident where several witnesses attested to his innocence). He was also issued a ticket, under the wrong name (Dontre’ Johnson) for a supposed assault on a peer which was never taken to court.

Dontre’’s name was considered an alias even though he never gave officers anything other than his real name, which set an unfounded precedent for suspicion in the eyes of the law.

So when officers took names around the circle of teens, his record marked him as a ‘trouble maker’.  Weeks later, the Loveland police came to Queen’s house, in the presence of his younger siblings and older brothers and took Dontre’ away to be charged with complacency.

Complacent, because a nearly sixteen-year-old boy who knew he could get in trouble for even touching another kid, didn’t step in and stop a fight that lasted less than two minutes.

A public defender was assigned to his case since Queen, raising a family on her own in the high-priced housing market of Fort Collins, couldn’t afford the $5000 retainer for a private lawyer.

In the coffee shop, Queen tells me about her experience with the public defender and the gentleman at the table beside us clears his throat and moves away. When she goes into the details of the lawyer laughing and bragging with the prosecutor, about how many similar cases he’d managed to get through in record time that week, a lady behind us shifts uncomfortably in her seat and leans away as if Queen’s pain is too uncomfortable to share space with.

But Queen continues her story amid the tell-tale signs of white guilt and discomfort that flow along the banks of our culture’s dirty hidden underbelly.

Her son’s life was not worth fighting for, the public defender told her. It would cost them time and money. Dontre’ would be sentenced to 7 years in prison if they went to trial and lost. And with his questionable juvenile offenses, the lawyer continued drolly, they’d lose.

Seven years for a sixteen-year old boy, is a lifetime. It meant the loss of his education and the opportunities his mother fought so hard to win. If they took a plea deal, he advised them, from a well-read script, Dontre’ would serve at least 18 months plus a mandatory 3-month probation period.

The hearings, meetings with the public defender, and the arduous task of getting all of her son’s records from Larimer County, made it nearly impossible for Queen to keep steady work and raise her other children. The family was thrown into disarray. Seats sat empty in schools while his family attended Dontre’’s hearings or went to visit him in the detention center. She missed appointments and work, her own mental health suffered with the trauma she knew Dontre’ was experiencing and the impact it was having on the rest of the family.

The system held out Dontre’’s life like a carrot for them to chase. Queen’s mental health suffered. His younger siblings and older brothers felt the strain on a family already struggling to prove they were worthwhile to a town that only seemed to want them on their school’s athletic teams or to tout them as their “diverse” population.

Now Dontre’ sits in juvenile corrections in Denver (a sometimes three-hour car ride for his mother to make), trying to stay out of the trouble that boils around him, but it’s a hard culture to rise above. Provided he can ‘behave’, his sentence will remain the same.

When I ask Queen what ‘behave’ means exactly, she rolls her eyes. A kid like Dontre’ doesn’t have to misbehave to get thrown into a place like Rites of Passage, or even sent to prison.

He just has to be black and in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dontre’ lives in a constant and heightened state of self-preservation and fear. Scared that when he’s released he’ll be too behind in school to catch up. Scared that his mother will break, fighting a losing battle that’s existed since the dawn of our country. Scared of a future where the mark on his record, for offenses still not proven, will mar his chances of landing a decent job. Scared that from all of this, the cycle of poverty will begin again, and again, over and over like a river that started flowing long before he was born.

Theirs is just one story of a broken system; a small piece of a larger cultural problem that perpetuates a history America should be ashamed of. One that’s destroying hard-working families like Queen’s right here in our own community.

Despite the hardships, the openly racist comments, and thinly veiled prejudices Queen and her family have endured. She still stands tall with a spiritual height that surpasses what life has handed her and serves as a beacon to all of us.

Queen founded Nu Eyes Village, a faith-based, grass-roots organization assisting under resourced families and establishing modes of self-sufficiency. She created the gatherings after completing a 20-week leadership and civic engagement course through the Family Leadership and Training Institute.

Her hope is to bring families out of poverty and offer support in areas of mental health, childcare, financial literacy, and mentoring programs in order to empower underserved communities. She’s a board member of the Early Childhood Council of Larimer County. She’s a current member of the Family Voice Council and the CDHS, and she is the President of the Healthy Larimer Committee which her son Donovan co-chairs.

She stands in the knowledge that change can only come at the level where laws are made or repealed. Still she remains openhearted, ready to engage in useful conversations that heal the chasm between communities and work towards a more inclusive and egalitarian city.

Put on your thinking hats, Colorado, with your innovative and brilliant minds, and strip away the illusion that clouds this difficult and uncomfortable issue.

If you have white skin you have privileges not guaranteed to those who do not. You’ve inherited the benefits of laws and systems that have worked to keep people of color and other minorities from reaching the same goals and potential as you. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t ask for this privilege and it doesn’t do any good to just feel ‘bad’ about it.

What matters is using the gifts you’ve been given as a result of that privilege to invoke real change.

Start by admitting that a group of people cannot ‘pull themselves up by their bootstraps’ when they’re kept barefoot in the dirt all of their lives.

Start by speaking out against injustice in policing policies and the expansion of for-profit prison systems.

Start by honoring the higher law that shouts we are all human beings, mothers and sons, daughters and fathers, designed by the same divine intervention, and worthy of dignity and respect. That every child born deserves the opportunity to shine and the benefit of doubt while they test the boundaries of youth.

Start by volunteering, donating, or simply just connecting with other people. Expand your knowledge and understanding of the challenges minorities face in our communities by holding real, compassionate, and non-ego driven conversations with each other.

Check out Nu Eyes Village at the Heart of The Rockies Church and support the opening of Nu Eyes Community Connection Center.

 

At the very least, take a moment and put yourself in Queen’s place.

Imagine the police taking your child away. Watch them bully and coerce him. Watch his sense of self deteriorate every day. Really feel it, in the pit of your stomach.

Then look in a mirror and know that nothing more than a lack of melanin and an ignorant historical bias ensures you’ll probably never know that pain.

That your child will never know Dontre’’s pain.

If you can really feel that, and still not be emboldened to act, then maybe it is all just heavy and gray.

 

 

 

VerseDay 9-19-19

Happy Epic Palindrome Day!

Funny-Celebration-With-Cat

 

Ok, that’s not really a thing. I just…

*sigh* I’m a little off from all of the serious and ADULT-like writing I’ve been doing lately.

I’m overcompensating with frivolity. It happens.

Here’s your Verse, you ungrateful math-hater (oh and by the way, it’s quirky too).

 

Ghost Writer

While you were asleep, I borrowed your pen and scratched ink over that dreadful book you’re writing.

Just a reminder that this was once my house, before you banged open the door and disturbed my rest.

Before you halted my slumber with your key-clacking and plastered that fluorescent post-it monstrosity over my Schumacher wallpaper.

Of all the idiots to suffer, why’d it have to be a writer now at my desk?

What editorial mistake did I make in life to land you here?

I fixed your opening line.

 

 

Higher Learning

We live in a world fueled by instantaneous information and misinformation. The overtaking of the Internet as our ‘news source’, social media, online anonymity, and the dangers of segregation through groupthink mentality have created a strange, and quick moving divisiveness that’s drawing hard lines through and around our community.

I live in Fort Collins, home of Colorado State University (not a CSU alumni myself), and the newest controversy involving a group of white students involved in a racially charged incident. Four of CSU’s students donned charcoal face masks and referenced Black Panther in a photo now widely dispersed on the internet.

What’s the big deal, right? Kids are young and dumb. They do stupid shit all the time.

Yeah…that may be true, we all do stupid shit. ESPECIALLY in college. But this isn’t throwing a chicken into a bar or lighting fireworks out of a car window.

This is racism. And no racism is done ‘in good fun’.

Living in today’s world with access to limitless information means that we have a responsibility to understand where we’ve gone wrong as a country and why we are always responsible for our actions, specifically how we treat our fellow human beings.

Being young is no longer a viable excuse for this kind of behavior. Theirs is the generation that has seen the thick disease of racism, white nationalism, and ethnocentrism bubble up to the surface. They should understand it better than any of us…maybe they do, and perhaps that’s what’s most disturbing about this incident.

The only person to come forward said it all happened so fast, that she didn’t even have time to question if making the gesture from Black Panther was right or wrong.

I call bullshit.

If you’re ‘clever’ enough to think of the reference while your white face is covered in black clay you’re clever enough to understand what it means to American culture and the disturbing history we share.

And if those students haven’t ever learned this history then here’s a quick recap for any of you out there who aren’t sure what the big deal is.

In the 1850’s black face (a white person painting their face in shoe polish, coal dust, etc) began as a way to portray African American people on stage for the entertainment of Antebellum era Southerners still miffed that much of their free labor had been emancipated. Actors played black characters in ways that perpetuated inaccurate stereotypes of them as being lazy, ignorant, superstitious, hypersexual, criminal and cowardly.

It wasn’t right then. It certainly isn’t now.

Now listen…I am human. You are too. We screw up.

Once, I was driving a friend home from a race and belted out the lyrics to a DMX song (because I love post-race DMX) and she stared at me in horror before I realized the word I’d sang along with. I still feel bad about it to this day…so I’m not sitting here on any sort of high horse.

But what I can say is this, when we make a mistake we admit it, we understand it and we OWN it. Meaning that we don’t try to turn the situation around to how our wrong behavior has “victimized us”.

I read through the young woman’s apology (side note and something we should all be aware of when looking at the whole picture: the female from the photo, Leana Kaplan had her apology printed in The Coloradoan even though they don’t accept outside articles or personal letters. Turns out, her father, Les Kaplan, owns the building that the newspaper resides in. Can you say “conflict of interest”, kiddies?) Her apology turned from seemingly genuine regret to her own hardships resulting from the incident. She even went on counter attack saying it was all a political ploy by a prominent educator, Tay Anderson, who is running for the Denver School Board.

I have to call bullshit again. You are responsible for how you behaved, you can’t be mad that people are raising awareness of the racial inequality which brought about such behavior. It’s not all about you, princess.

Public shaming is completely acceptable when you’ve been a total douche about something.

CSU is facing its own backlash and I say it’s about time. The predominantly white upper-class college isn’t a stranger to this kind of behavior from it’s students. In the past two years there have been a string of racist and anti-semitic crimes, including a noose hung in a resident hall targeting a Black resident assistant, graffiti proclaiming “Fu%& Jews”, and even CSU security calling the police on two Native American students who were on a tour of the college. Despite all of these hate crimes, CSU and its board of directors have done little to combat the behaviors that make its minority students feel threatened, anxious and segregated.

Speaking of threats, and to return to a more balanced overview, Miss Kaplan has had death threats (over 50 she claims) due to this incident, and has lost her job, causing ‘financial hardship’.

While there’s a lot to be said for the shady nature of white privilege in this story here is where I want to end this discussion with:

Firstly, if your dad owns buildings that house newspapers, I’m inclined to think that you don’t have nearly the ‘financial hardships’ that other disadvantaged students are facing.

Secondly, no matter how stupid or blindly privileged you are, you are still a human being and no one should be threatening your life.

This is a strange and hard time to live. Especially for those of us with hearts in the right places and genuine care and concern for all the people we share this world with. I feel like a momma to the expanse of the world sometimes, holding my hands out to each child, trying to keep them from hurting one another.

Stop.

Stop thinking its funny and no big deal to make fun of a history that destroys lives, ruined families and entire cultures, and ripped our country in half. Be a better person, goddamnit, and understand that your actions have the power to either perpetuate hate and divisiveness or love and compassion.

Stop.

Stop threatening to take someone’s life for making a mistake. I understand that you worry that by offering forgiveness and a second chance you think they won’t learn…that they will just keep on doing hurtful things. But taking someone’s life makes you no better a person. Causing them fear and anxiety, while seemingly just punishment, is the low road to take.

This post’s exhausted me. I hope you all can take one thing away from it: That you are responsible for your behavior and the consequences that it brings. You are responsible for the world you create through your actions and words…so Be Better.

 

VerseDay 9-4-19

 

None The Less

 

There’s nothing left in you

for me.

the vaporous possibility

a veil pulled away to reveal

all this nothing

 

Both birds tucked in bush

empty hands

beak pecked and talon scratched

pale against green leaves

and frothed feathers

 

There’s nothing left in me

for you.

I am a morbid shadow

the girl we once knew

paper thin

soul and words faded

to a time of never-was

bleached by sun

tattered by storm

 

Blank

and you

none

the

less

for it.

 

Priority

Hello writers and readers. I hope you all enjoyed a long weekend and had some time to yourselves for writing or exploring your creativity. I have been balancing the new school schedule as well as social engagements, old-dog vet appointments, and enrichment programs for my kiddos. I’ve been logging extra miles in preparation for the Colorado Ragnar Relay and juggling the details of 12 individuals coordinating 36 hours of their lives together.

What I haven’t been doing is writing.

Or editing.

Or even brainstorming.

It doesn’t bode well for a blogger who touts being a writer to not write. So what does one do, when life around her seems to sap every moment? She prioritizes and shakes off some of the unimportant to feed her soul. After all, that’s what I’m always preaching to you fine people to do, right? I can’t very well tell you how to walk the road while I muck around in the ditch.

So I’m back to the computer this week, setting up some goals for the year. My 40th trip around the sun should have something monumental yes? Besides my body falling apart and gravity being especially cruel on all my jiggly bits? I need something uplifting to balance it all out. So I’m making lists and culling the overgrown herd of obligatory adulting.

We all get overwhelmed and distracted with life and let our time to write, or to paint, or knit or whatever it is that feeds our bigger brain get kicked off the schedule. My hope is that we understand how empty that missing piece leaves us and work to fill it back in again.

As this is my case, I will only be contributing to this blog four times a month (2 blog posts, 2 VerseDays) in an effort to put more of my time towards my novels and the new Poetry Anthology coming out in the Spring.

I’m not sure who will miss my weekly thought purges, but rest assured, I will still be darkening your door, just a smidge less.

Please feel free to send me your poetry or flash fiction, I’ve extended the deadline to December 31st for inclusion into the poetry anthology, “No Small Things”. Even if you’ve contributed before, I’d love to hear more. Thanks for your time and consideration!

Until next week, go work on your stuff! I want to know your time isn’t being wasted and that we’re all doing well by ourselves and our passions. Reach out to me, if you do have a spare moment, and let me know what you’ll be doing to prioritize your creativity in the next few months!

Love ya,

Sarah

VerseDay 8-29-19

I’m not sure where this came from. Maybe it was my old high-school track coach telling me that if I quit, I’d never finish anything in life. (Hey, Mr. S and Mr. R…turns out I CAN actually finish something, including two marathons, half a dozen halfs and six relays, give or take).

Maybe it was the instructor who berated me for “letting” my daughter quit, saying that I was teaching her to give up when things got tough.

To those instructors, I offer this:

A child who knows how to pursue their own happiness, that knows their own heart and can let go of situations that are abusive or dangerous and move on to something better is a child who will surpass us all, because they’ve learned that other’s expectations are not as important as their own mental health and physical safety.

Let’s do one better and become this kind of person in our own lives, starting today.

Let’s be the parents that recognize happiness isn’t measured in instagram likes and crappy plastic trophies.

Enjoy…or get uncomfortable. Either way.

 

Perfect

Born into arms which penetrate hearts

Inject the belief

we were meant for greater things, pal.

Capable of great feats,

(greater than that loser Tommy two doors down)

Set expectation high and don’t ever

Ever

Ever

Settle for less.

 

Aim for the stars kid, and you’ll at least hit the moon.

 

So we aim, eyes glancing back to expectant faces

Waiting for the brag worthy photo to be posted later

Thinking

They’ll surely love me then.

By the measure of counted likes and tiny hearts floating

to the top of screens they rarely look up from.

 

We will excel. We will be better.

We will hurtle faster into adulthood,

And pound on depression’s door with a signed note,

Tug along our anxieties to the bus stops and soccer practices.

Bite nails, inhale, drink it down,

and give the captain of the football team

whatever he asks for.

 

We’ll aim for the stars

hurtle our broken bones and burst ligaments once more

like they’ve pulled a catapult’s lever to expunge us again and again

If it only would mean

They would love us.

 

Maybe when we get on the Varsity team,

Maybe after our third ACL replacement before graduation.

Maybe after the fourth ivy-league school accepts.

Maybe when we’ve lost enough fat to crown the top of the pyramid

In tiny skirts designed to make it all our fault.

 

Watch our faces fall every day

As we are shoveled into cars and

Paraded down sidelines,

Dressed in tutu’s and reminded not to eat too much

Sent to the psychologist because

‘she just can’t focus’ in a force-fed day

Gorged on Latin and dance, soccer and flute,

Math club, robotics, and the triple threat; tap.

 

Future problem solver

Can’t even solve her own problems

Pop a pill, darling, it will help you get our dreams.

 

Never really understanding that the only real problem,

Is the one that tucks us into bed,

Sighing, resigned, that maybe tomorrow will be better.

The ones that feed us breakfast and

Don’t search the backpack for the needles,

Because “he’s born with natural talent”

 

Twisted Sister could have taught you something

Darling perfects

about their trite and jaded ideas

screaming you are not enough

Just as you are,

Just ask you like.

 

You will excel,

Like they never did.

You will severe their noose of tough love

Drop it in your sweaty gym bag,

burn it with your test score report and tap shoes.

 

Do not let them force you

to relive their spent dreams.

Be all. Be nothing.

Land lightly in the space between…

The space that is you.

Em-Dash It All: The Changing and Fluid Nature of Grammar

Hello my little writer friends. It’s not often I jump of the creative train to offer you some solid advice on the science of writing, but I thought I’d give your philosophical pathways a break. Hopefully, unlike your sophomore English teacher, this won’t put you to sleep.

I’m a creative; a bit of a butterfly girl if you will, and my concern and study of the correct comma or punctuation usage is akin to my concern and study of the HOA Regulations. And while my garden grows amuck and wild like fairies planted it, it also makes for some unsightly overgrowth.

Some forms of writing can take more license. Poetry is a perfect example of this. There is also a funky new emergence of non-traditional work coming out of some literary journals that plays with time, space, language and form like Shyamalan played with screenwriting. So for those forms not all the rules will apply.

For the rest of us, who’s audience doesn’t want the jolt of unexpected grammar holes, it’s important that we keep up on the latest grammatical trends in the business.

“Wait! Grammar trends? But grammar doesn’t change! I memorized all of those rules from Mr. Cloyd, I KNOW how to use proper form!”

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we’re friends and I have only your best interests at heart, so here it goes.

Some grammatical rules always apply. I had started a list but it was getting too long so  I’m doing a total cop out and referring you to the ignanamous Daniel Scocco and his blog: Grammar 101. 

Even with this base, writers and editors have started to understand the importance of language as a living being. As time and modes of communication change and flow, so do the ways in which writers share their stories. I’m not here to judge whether or not the Oxford Comma is valid (totally valid), I’m here to let you know that writing well and clearly without the distraction of poor sentence structure remains your goal.

I tend to think of changes in grammar as happening like a Paris fashion show. All of these bigwig editors get together at giant conferences and spend hours drooling over the next newest trends in the industry. Whether it be hyphenation changes or comma usage, there’s always something that top-selling writers (oof, was I supposed to hyphen that?) or literary savants are playing with that make it more acceptable (even standard) for the rest of us to do as well.

Sometimes these changes are a direct result of what’s happening in the English language in it’s spoken form. After all, your modern-day hero isn’t going to yell out, “I shan’t do it!” or “Have you a moment?”. Jane Austen didn’t have the word “bromance” to describe Mr. Darcy’s and Mr. Bingly’s long standing friendship. We are experiencing a trend towards more passive voice as well as a heavier usage of the progressive form of verbs (‘they speak’ vs. ‘they are speaking’).

The changes I most want you to pay attention to are those that the industry is accepting as standard. Such as the single-space after a period vs. double space (as Chicago crooned, it’s a hard habit to break).

Lucky for us, in this world of mobile grammar, tools have arisen to help. Grammar checking software is like having an on call editor, standing by as you write to alert you of any mishaps. They’re getting reasonable in price and better with each year. Most are updated to reflect industry standards. Check out Grammarly, WhiteSmoke, ProWritingAid, Ginger Online, and LanguageTool just to name a few.

If you aren’t ready to download something yet, here are a few more resources that I’ve bookmarked on my own laptop.

The Punctuation Guide

The Blue Book of Grammar and Punctuation

The Chicago Manual of Style

I know it’s a vast, ever-changing sea out there, but stay strong little writer.

You ought not worry.

 

 

 

 

 

Soul Nap

Hello after a much needed hiatus, I hope that the last few weeks have been grand for you all. I was on a little vacation and decided to allow my normal schedule to soften a bit in all aspects of my life. Writing fell by the wayside, I slept in and skipped out on the morning miles. I just let myself be.

Those are the times that do us strangely good. Now, granted, you can’t stay in that kind of state if you hope to advance your work in progress or be prepared for that fastly-approaching relay race (yikes, maybe I should have ran a little more…) But the respite is an important part of any successful endeavor. I don’t actually know if that’s scientifically proven, but I do know about burnout and I know the only way to avoid it is to rest once in a while.

Plus, life is short…we should pause to enjoy it occasionally instead of hurrying ourselves into the grave.

One of the best things resting can do, is reorient yourself to the quietness inside. When the demands of the world are so loud and the shoulds, and have-tos, and oughts are always at the forefront we often forget what it is we really want. We forget to check in and see if what we’re doing is really what we need to be doing. What we want to be doing. Does it serve our happiness? Or someone else’s?

I’m not sure if it’s viable for you, but I encourage you as a writer, a parent, an athlete, or whatever label you’ve had slapped on your ass, to step back once in a while. Even if it’s just taking a ‘mental health’ day from work to change up your routine. Purposefully don’t do what you always do. Refuse. Resist. Sit quietly with the only person that’s really in control of your situation (no not the toddler, I know it feels that way, but…)

Reacquaint yourself with you.

It can be kind of harrowing. The quiet removal of all you ‘live for’ in a day has the effect of taking a car seat out of the back of your car after a year. You might see a lot of trash and rotting debris beneath all that was so ‘necessary’ (quotes are for effect of the comparison…car seats are TOTALLY NECESSARY). The clear space of you that’s been neglected for a long time. Sometimes that space has been neglected for so long that it, itself, has become rotted and unstable. And with that can come the clarity of why everything that rests on it, all the things you do in a day, feel like they’ll topple over at any second.

A neglected core is unstable ground for building a life.

It can be scary to find that what you once clung to so fiercely is not really what you want deep down. You can’t heal that wound until you clean it all out, study it, and treat it. Life leaves us scars in this way. Places we’ve been, people we’ve loved, that no longer make sense to the path that’s at the true core of our center. They may even throw our center completely off for other areas of our lives. So cull the herd. Start from the bottom and build new dreams, new goals, that fulfill what you need today, not five-ten-twenty years ago.

Don’t forget human, you’re meant to change over the years.

Get deep. Get dark. Get to know yourself again, then work your way up.

VerseDay 8-15-19

Hey there kids.

It’s been a whirlwind on my end of things the last few weeks and I’m trying to catch my brain up to my heart in a lot of respects. So this one feels…tepid. Like unsatisfying tap water…too warm to be refreshing, too cold to be comforting.

We all have our days.

 

 

Missfit

 

She doesn’t go

In the lines they drew,

She slithers out

Spills over edge.

 

She doesn’t fit

In labeled boxes and

Carefully thought out plans

She escapes over walls

And flies the coop

 

She doesn’t match the furniture

Or compliment the wall paper

She doesn’t shrink to fit the space

Or diminish into corners.

 

She is not refined in fixture

Not the gray of peripheral

She is ill-placed and jarring

Color splashed on white walls

She lacks pattern and structure.

 

She misfits this world,

Careens past the bullseye,

To shoot wild

Flies across the sky

In dodging weaving trails

Floating butterfly

Stinging bee

 

She is uncontained

And worrisome.