This morning, I opened a journal that I began several years ago, and revisited the opening entry.
“Intro to Survival. The night I realized that the writing was going to be my redeemer, I dove in head first. I’ve never jumped head first into anything. I always feel like I have to explain why I go down the ladder off the boat, or push myself off the stern into the sparkling depths that others embrace with such enthusiasm.
This time I didn’t hesitate. I started typing at 10 PM. Tap tap tapping. The words flowing like the creek after a rare drenching rain. I couldn’t slow them down and I couldn’t stop them from spilling out.
Suddenly there were no more tears. Just staccato sentences. No more exclamations points. Just declarative honesty. I shut off the light and lay my head on my pillow. But it kept coming. I turned on the light and wrote some more.
At 2 AM, I closed my eyes to the moon and the stars, to the soft breeze on my cheek.
I didn’t have a nightmare that night. I didn’t even dream at all.
I got up the next day and began my life anew.”
Linda Summersea, September 8, 2012
I vividly remember that night, although I had no way of knowing where it would take me. On New Year’s Eve (12/31/2020) at 11:53 PM, I completed the final reading of the seventh and, hopefully, final draft of my childhood memoir, The Girl with the Black and Blue Doll.
I closed my laptop with a feeling of decisiveness. Of completion. And happiness at being pleased with where the journey took me.
Happy New Year! I’m looking forward to seeing what 2021 brings for all of us.
