What Freedom Looks Like

A young girl, looking on from the safety of her father’s shoulders, to what freedom looks like.

About this women’s march… I went. And I’m glad I did. And apparently, a whole bunch of others did too. But here’s the thing: I really struggled with my decision to go.

I had to get to my own reasons and motives. I needed to pray for God’s idea for me and talk with friends. And when I did, I started owning that I was afraid, and worried that my walking might endorse un-peaceful protest which I am very much against. I worried that my showing up would look like full endorsement of some beliefs that I do not hold, and, here’s the really embarrassing part, I worried about what people might think of me.

At 62, still worrying about other’s disapproval. Continue reading What Freedom Looks Like

Today

Butterfly by Trudy Ann WyattBy God’s grace and a bunch of really good people right here, I am standing in the sunshine of gratitude.  And today can be about celebrating Trudy and the many gifts she shared with us.

Including one of her butterflies that’ll I’ll share with you.  And a poem shared with me by a friend earlier this week.

Live life, love and have fun. I am pretty sure this is what Trudy would like for me to do.  With love.  Today. Continue reading Today

The Torque and Tensile of Tinnitus

The Scream by Edvard Munch, 1893In the personal sense: torque is the pull of doing what is wrong against the right that I know.  Tensile is the test of how long I can continue thinking and behaving, in opposite directions than loving ways, without completely breaking, and falling apart.

Two very human conditions we live within; both displaying the existence of good and the good sense in each of us. Continue reading The Torque and Tensile of Tinnitus

Finding Normal

Normal © twyatt 2014Wednesday is the last day of the year; a realization that strikes panic like a stitch in my side when running.

Oh wait, I haven’t been running since I turned 41. That look back makes this like child’s play – a few days in a year is nothing to twenty. And yet, like yesterday or twenty years ago I am again heckled to hate myself and plan my diet-cure by December 31. Continue reading Finding Normal