I’ve over-thought writing for Elephant Journal for more than half a decade. Today, my piece has been published!
10:25 a.m.: I still have hope. I post on Instagram, “I’m so close to the summit, I can taste it.” Four minutes later, I decide to start counting switchbacks to keep my mind off of what this experience feels like in my body.
When you think of it, it’s kind of funny how so much effort can be taken to keep money-making insects healthy—while willingly using its product to sicken and kill the poor unable to give to the rich.
I miss you. The way our faces stack as we lie on our sides, not yet ready to leave the warmth of each other's bodies; the scent of the oils gathered in the crease of your nose, your neck. I would like to nestle there.
Do I want a car? I just chose not to have one for financial, environmental, and personal goals' sake. I am attached to the idea of becoming a cyclist and pedestrian. But...
“If you want to become a better person, or not get into a monotonous, boring life, you’re going to have to find micro-goals to go after,”
She brings romance to being lonely; that space in which I can see no further than my own skin; and its needs ...
Life doesn't always have to feel 100 percent right all the time. It doesn't have to be pretty to be satisfyingly interesting and exciting.
Travel has been a way to explore my individual identity to the degree I’ve felt I lacked a communal one. Exploring my ancestry, on the other hand, addresses that basic need for a group I know is an inextricable part of the me that other family and friends press up against and shape.
The biggest takeaway from the soil of my still-living ancestors, however, is the example of who I can be and what I can create. With just a little work—a little more reaching out, I could be a family oriented woman with strong ties to anyone perched on a branch of my own or even a neighboring family tree--much like the Kelly, Johnson, or especially the Kirby women.