I'm here to let you know that there are potentially important events happening this winter. I'm also reflecting on the roles Star Wars has played in my life.
"Princess Leia taught me to be tough," my latest piece for the City Paper.
|Trey and I do an especially good at offering out-of-control happiness.|
|He is talented.|
|Beautiful, right? That was a beautiful photo. I win!|
|We love you, Nativity! Also, we both look totally cute.|
Alison: Ah, Elizabeth--you're digging into this. It's scary to dig into hope. I may be uneasy (grouchy?) by the expectations that you're brave, wise, etc. But I know that this framework works for you (isn't it odd how we can find some similarities that emerge from our differences of opinion).
Anyway, my tired brain gives you a hug. And I'm super glad to hear that you might have the possibility of hope.
Elizabeth: I like the idea of digging into hope. I'm not sure what you mean by the "uneasiness" or grouchy way you feel -- nor what framework you're referring to. Plea service elaborate, wise Teacher!
Alison: Rereading my comment, it sounds like I'm saying that I'm uneasy about YOU, and I apologize! I think what I'm saying here is that when people say I'm wise, part of me wants to say, "Akkkk! No, I'm just making my way through this the way any of you would! It's not my wisdom that's brought along a brain tumor to a wise person!" So I generally appreciate the warmth that's conveyed through…what…I'm not even sure. I guess I'm talking about some of the compliments as feeling distancing. If a friend touches my shoulder and makes the "This can really suck, can't it?" facial expression, that can feel really connected.
I am truly throwing this out there without even rereading.
Yup. THAT I understand and know exactly. My favorite is the old "I could never do what you do." It makes me feel incredibly isolated. My favorite ever short story is by Lorrie Moore -- "There Are No People Like That Here" in Birds of America. In it, she recounts the story of a woman whose baby is diagnosed with a cancerous tumor. The people who she most relates to, who help sustain her, are those who fully acknowledge the suckery of the situation. Who say "holy shit!" when they see the baby in the hospital crib after surgery, etc.
[The Father says] "All of those nice people with their brave stories…Don't you feel consoled, knowing that we're all in the same boat, that we're all in this together?"
But who would want to be in this boat? the Mother thinks. This boat is a nightmare boat. Look where it goes: to a silver-and-white room, where, just before your eyesight and hearing and your ability to touch or be touched disappear entirely, you must watch your child die.
Rope! Bring on the rope.
|Good morning, living room. XOXO.|