Writing helps me notice what I’m carrying. To care about myself kindly and fiercely, in all my smallness and in all my bigness, in all my outstandingness and in all my failure, in all my naked truth and in all the ways I’ve hidden from it, at noon and at midnight, in calm and in upset, at any weight, at any size, at any age, in any company…
Writing brings me home, wherever in the world I am.
Sign up to receive "The Awarewithall," Heidi's email letters packed with real life stories, friendly awareness and resources to get your nervous system from triggered to steady and from overwhelmed to clear and un-alone.
Remembrance of Things Past (Proust) is long overdue. I’ve been holding onto it for too long and when I go to return it at the library my fine is $39.
I don’t have the money with me to pay. I want them to wave the fee and tell me I don’t have to pay, that they’ll let it go. But they don’t.
The librarian tells me she’s been wanting to read it. (Sleeping dream, 8 July 2007)
© 2020 Danielle connor | terms & conditions | privacy policy
© 2020 Danielle connor
terms & conditions
privacy policy