I wonder what I’ll write today…

Maybe it’s always been the coffee. If it’s perfect, I can write. I just brewed the last grounds as a single cup of espresso. Now I have the keyboard in my lap, it’s saturday morning and I’m trying to connect interesting thought with page. No particular interesting thought, just words that I like to read, that someone else might enjoy.
Last night, Matthew pointed out my rainbow colored backpack, telling Grandma to take it with her. At this point, I told him it was my writing from long ago and told my mom that I have 2 more boxes. Then I showed her the boxes, realizing that I may have never mentioned to her that I have been carrying around all this writing dating back at least 18 years, likely longer. I’ve been carrying it around so that one day, like last night, or today, or any other day from now on, I can slowly, quietly sift through the contents of my mind, heart, soul, through time and probably do several practical and mystical things with it all over time. I have long intended to work on some of the better pieces and have them published or performed. I want to put it all in chronological order and reread it. I expect sharing parts of it will be useful to other women, and men maybe, and especially young people who believe, with all their heart, that no one can understand what they’re going through(and they may be right considering how often we get older and shut the door on our youthfulness in order to “get along” in the world. It doesn’t work). I also expect to remember, as if returning in time to those hours of search, longing, sadness, determination, introspection, intensity….words here won’t capture it so I’ll stop trying and let the task of unearthing time be it’s own reality without my expectations(hopefully).
Also, I need insight into being a child again. If I do, I can connect with my children better. God willing, I can be a better guide into maturity, a more empathetic teacher, more patient with their challenges and with full realization that whatever they are facing is huge to them, their reality and to be honored, never discounted. Often, my dad was good at this, staying up late nights to tell me stories of his growing up, of his early years with Baha’u’llah and the magnificient souls he spent so much time with, not knowing at the time the signifigance of these friendships(do we ever know). Telling me stories of Abdul-Baha, of the intimate struggles of the first Baha’i’s in a way that I knew I was like them…human and trying so hard, no matter how backward I felt inside.
I’ve looked at a few pieces last night and more this morning, between sentences written here. I’ve put this off for years(though the desire to see what lies within the boxes and cardboard covers has sometimes been a deep ache) by way of a seemingly endless series of moves that has finally ended with this house. I don’t know how much if any I am willing to share with a computer journal, but that doesn’t matter right now anyway. Getting started matters.

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5 Responses to I wonder what I’ll write today…

  1. Bahiyyih says:

    yeah! Yeah! Oh, that’s so wonderful to hear! I’m so glad that house can be your safe house and that you can open up your heart there. You have no idea how happy that makes me. But forget the house… I’m just so glad you are looking over your writing and finding so many good and useful magic beans. Go Heidi go! Grow Heidi grow!

  2. heidi says:

    I laughed when I read your comment because it’s so joyful and I feel joyful and finally free about the whole matter…and it’s fun to hear enthusiastic encouragment. Thank you Miss Bahiyyih.

  3. Heather says:

    Heidi! This is very funny. I keep trying to email you, but I cannot find your email address, anywhere… Alas. Please write to me with it!

  4. Yuling says:

    If you have more 2 boxes of journals, you definitely have enough materials for a (or more) memoir!
    I can’t stop but imaging what your book(s) looks like. It’s surely not the famous-person-and-her/his-great-childhood kind of memoir, it’s a work that the young people who are confused about life and uncertain about themselves can find the words/language/stories to validate their feelings and experiences.
    I always enjoy reading memoirs because the lives and thoughts of the persons I admire or like can inspire me to construct my own story–a story that I choose at present rather than given by my past.

  5. Heidi says:

    Yuling, I will read your comments again when I am actually writing such a book when I feel any doubt. Thank you.

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