Been a long time, I shouldn’t have left you / Without a dope beat to step to
This is the first #landofwomen letter I’ve been able to write since pandemia began. I don’t have words for all of it yet, everything we’ve been going through, everything that has rocked the planet. More and more, the words are coming—really, coming back. I am readjusting to the feel of a pen against the pad of my finger. I am recommitting to slow movements, to stillness and silence. Sometimes the words are like waves and I’m drowning in them and fumbling for some way to catch them all (or I’m just letting them wash over me and disappear back into foam). Other times I am more disciplined and I try to breathe underwater like the mermaids our ancestors were before us. Mostly I just try to find some quiet time to get something on paper, long form, before one of the kids, a calendar reminder, or app notification beep breaks my focus. I’m reclaiming my time. Or I’m trying to.
That’s one reason why this letter/space/archive has moved from Tiny Letter to Substack. The UX is easier on my need for WYSIWG drafting. And working in MailChimp’s corporate shadow was giving me bad vibes. Which is to say Substack is sexier, easier to use from my mobile device, easier to draft in. Plus there is something attractive about the paid option, although I’m still thinking about how/if to use it.
Maybe this will encourage me to write more, interview more often, share audio or video from this strange country called the land of women. I hope so. There is more coming and plenty to process through. I could make a list…but you already know. You have your own list.
But there is also living, too. Just living. Sometimes living is writing and sometimes living takes the place of writing.
This year, #SunBaby, my Libra child, came to balance the scales, came to demand more of me than I was willing to give, came to teach me things. Came to slowwwwwww me downnnnnnn. To show me how to breathe. To show me what breathing in kinship looks like, feels like.
These two are Mama’s gun. Double barrel and sawed off. These are my shots fired.
Sometimes the writing isn’t living and the living has to be lived for the words to come (back).
xo,
jmj
Thanks for visiting. Get your passport stamped before you go.