I wouldn’t call my conversations with myself futile though, even if the practice appears insane, because it helps me think about my words and how they will be delivered to the audience.
It’s unseasonably warm in Chicago. Today it rained most of the day. I’m unsure when it stopped. I didn’t leave the building because I brought my lunch to work. I…
An exchange yesterday triggered a comical memory. It happened when my colleague and I interviewed a candidate for a new member of our team and she asked the candidate an interesting…
“Pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off of you.” Maya Angelou I was looking for inspiration. Craving more…
The city’s sounds, smells, and sights are intoxicating. In the morning people are quiet. Falling in like cattle, some step up to step down the stairs. Their shoe clicks vary, soft rubber, fine leather, hard plastic, tapping against weathered stone floors, metal escalators, concrete streets, and metal bridges.
So, “it’s like trying to grab hold of fog” …
She wanted today to be both an ending and a beginning.
We can dress up these offenders, teach them how to write a story and convince the world that they are really good people. And externally they may appear so. But you can’t hire a pr-consultant to paint you as a respectable human being when inside you are not.
I felt like I was fire dancing between earth and water, grounded nowhere, fueled by both, and extinguished inside.
Melancholy. Numb. Ambivalent. Nothing good in those words. On most days I can flip those words inside out and find a bright side or silver lining, but today it’s just not there. Last Tuesday my friend had a bad day. She woke up angry. She could not put her finger on it. She thought maybe she was letting too many people manager her time. She went to read her usual pick me ups. She tried to journal. Nothing worked. I told her she was having an “I’m so bitchy I can’t stand myself” kind of day.
I don’t want to work for anyone anywhere. I want it to mean something and make a difference, and while that may sound Pollyannaish, it’s true and the truth is my north star. I want to inspire and be inspired.
I’ve always wondered without journalism where we would be? What if no one photographed Pearl Harbor, Vietnam, or September 11, no one documented the Civil Rights Movement or Women’s March, nothing to intricately connect our shared experiences like fine Irish lace? Outside of our those shared experiences, each family needs its own history keeper. Each family should know its own truths. Who knew that when my mother gave me a Christmas ornament 24-years ago that its meaning was not so much about the trajectory of my career, but more about my role in this family, its history keeper?
When I was home, I was on my phone, or computer, always occupied with the past and the future happenings of my work, rarely ever savoring the “quicksilver moments”.
There are these moments in our lives when a person comes into it, presented like a perfectly wrapped present, with a tag reading, “Enjoy this gift. Love, God.” And that is what Maggie was, and remains. A constant source of laughter, love, and friendship.