Life, isn't it just the most astonishing, fragile thing? One moment you're caught up in the everyday rush – new jobs, family whispers, the general ebb and flow – and the next, a profound realization hits you. It's easy to take it all for granted, isn't it? I've been thinking about this a lot lately, especially as the year winds down and the milestones tick by. My own dad just hit 85, a happy birthday month to him, and I can't help but reflect on the preciousness of time with the people we hold dear.
It’s the timely passing of my Grandma Nan, at 98, that really brought this into sharp focus. She was a complex soul, no doubt, but her love for me, and for those who knew her, was a constant. And it’s that love, those good memories, that I choose to hold onto. She was a huge supporter of my poetry, a daily encouragement that really fueled my passion. It turns out, that love for verse runs in the family. As Jim Valvano wisely put it, “Enjoy your life, the precious moments you have.” It’s a simple truth, but one we often need reminding of.
This feeling of life's delicate nature, its preciousness, often finds its way into my writing. It’s like an intricately woven web, where knowing when to hold on and when to let go becomes the art of living. We all navigate loss, heartbreak, the grief of losing loved ones. But in the midst of it all, remembering the good times, the love that still resonates, feels like the truest path. It’s why I find myself protecting my heart; it’s the closest thing I have to my honest truth. Love, after all, isn't for the barely hanging on; it's for the strong, the capable.
I remember writing to my Grandma Nan, the words rattling around in my head. There’s a certain peace in remembering her last words, her loving and supportive spirit, rather than dwelling on the final moments. Even when she was rough around the edges, even as her memories faded, her love remained. It’s this profound connection, this ability to translate the messy, beautiful, and often heartbreaking reality of life into something tangible, something that can be shared, that makes poetry mean the world to me.
It’s also about finding your own worth, isn't it? Especially when you've heard 'no' more times than you can count. "No, you're not good enough." "No, we don't want you." It's a tough road, and it's easy to internalize that blame. But as I've learned, and as Forest Whitaker so eloquently stated, "The true wealth of a community is measured by how carefully it listens to its women and how sincerely it values their wisdom. Empowering women empowers us all." Finding that right fit, whether it's a job or a relationship, is about recognizing that sometimes, it's just not meant to be, and that's okay. It means something better is waiting. And that, in itself, is a kind of poetry.
So, as this year closes and a new one beckons, my resolution is to write more, to share more, and to keep chasing that dream of publishing my poetry collection. May the coming year bring you everything you're looking for, and may you find the poetry in your own precious, delicate moments.
