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.
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When I die, as I die, may I die with eyes wide open. May I not miss a single moment of going, of ending, and if it is to be so, of coming, of beginning. Even as the walls tumble and the floors break apart and the shelves with tome upon tome of things I thought I knew collapse down upon me, let me notice it all: tasting, smelling and hearing the fullness of this symphony: this amazing —if baffling— mystery that is life.
© 2020 Danielle connor | terms & conditions | privacy policy
© 2020 Danielle connor
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privacy policy