Day 14:

Last year, while standing in the poetry aisle at the library seeking a new treasure to take home, I slid a book by William Stafford off the shelf and opened it to a random page, as is my habit.  I instantly fell in love with the first poem I saw. The book came home with me that day and has since been added to my own bookshelf.

The Way it Is
There's a thread you follow.  It goes among
things that change.  But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

On Friday, I spent the afternoon with my friend John, who also happens to be my colleague and the best writing and tennis partner one could ever wish for.  And he makes me laugh. We had a lively adventure wandering through bank lobbies, exploring the Portland Police Museum, and enjoying a cocktail at the Lotus Cardroom and Cafe.  It definitely rivaled the fun of our last ramble through a cemetery. We talked a lot, because that's what we do. Half the time we know what the other will say next.  On the subject of this blog, as predicted, his first comment was, "I really wanted to edit it."  I just laughed.

There will always be a piece of me that wishes the writing here was perfect, because it's in my character to reshape the things I create until they become flawless. But that's not what this has been about. This has been about daring myself not to be perfect. About letting myself just be me no matter how silly it looks. And about giving myself the time, the adventure and the space to find my thread that somehow got buried under the weight of those who wanted me to be someone else.

And now it's time to don my sassy boots and head off to the theatre.  A perfect finale.

The end.