I enjoy my quiet time. Taking time to decompress, to think,
to ponder what is on my heart. When I write, I write from the heart. Typically it
is something that is on my heart and that I’ve been thinking about. A lot. I don’t,
or really can’t, write simply because it is the thing to do. I cannot be a
robot and say, “Well, it’s Saturday. Time to write something.”
When I write I share a piece of myself. Sometimes it’s
silly. Laughter and fun are things that bring me joy. Sometimes I write about
things related to cancer; whether it is my own journey or an educational piece.
It is about passion. It is about what is on my heart.
Sometimes it is in response to something in the news. Lately
there has been a lot of heartache in the world. I don’t really know how to
respond to the politically divisive events here in the U.S., let alone the global
terrorist attacks.
What I have been doing is having conversations.
Conversations with my friends; with my colleagues. It strikes me that I never
truly appreciated the fact that those I hold dear could live in fear due to the
color of their skin or the life they live. One conversation brought tears to my
eyes as I realized that someone I love could be killed because of who she is.
I don’t have to fear for my life. I’m white. I’m straight.
I’m married. Some of my friends, my colleagues, those that I deeply cherish,
live every day with a little bit of fear. Fear that wearing sweat pants and a
hoody to the grocery store could make you a target of harassment when really it
is just about being comfortable. Fear that going out to a night club could get
you shot when really it is about having a fun night out with some friends.
This is not about politics or religion. This is about my
life and those I love. I haven’t been listening to the true story of my heart
lately. But this. This breaks my heart.
