This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
(What better place to begin an epic?)
I’m here, starting my sixth year out of college, age twenty-seven, one woman, interdependent, nearly invisible, exiled home, alive or dead, somewhere somewhen, at work in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in the year twenty-sixteen, the year of our lord, no.
I like writing for fun. I work full-time at the intersection of scholarly and library publishing and pedagogy at one the top public research institutions in the country. And this is the first I’ve written in some time. I’m on a lunch break as I write this. It’s two-thirty-two p.m.
This is the first time in my life I’ve felt I must take a stand and raise my voice because it is my obligation to this planet.
What I mean is there’s no affording hating yourself or dismissing others or cursing the universe. It’s time to love. And it’s so easy. All you do is be. Be, and give thanks.
(I’m talking to you, and I’m talking to myself.)
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. That’s how you know it’s right.
Communicating with intention, with meaning. As if it can be done. As if we can progress as one toward a collective reality aligned with our wildest dreams.
It’s as if an image that had been distorted for millennia pieced itself together in the span of seventy-two hours, and I feel transcendent, perched on top of time.
The puzzle picture’s lit with big synergy. We’re coming together now. We’re coming.