On Being Real

My mom read this excerpt from the children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit at my grandma’s funeral: “Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you… You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

My Heavy Blanket

I had my first "encounter" with depression my sophomore year of college.  I remember the time and place of it like it was yesterday - and even still today as I reflect on it I can feel those first moments - the emptiness, the confusion, the loneliness and desperation.  Sadness swept over me like a wave, and the lights went out all around me.  And, more painfully, the lights went out inside of me.  I had no idea what was happening, and I certainly didn’t know what to do about it.

Quiet Please

I’ve been thinking a lot about noise lately.  My upstairs neighbors are obnoxiously loud, to the point that I sometimes have to wear earplugs to get any peace and quiet in my own house.  Traffic is loud, both outside my window and in the busyness of trying to get around in it.  And there are just so many of us living in what feels like a smaller and smaller world that sometimes I feel like I’m crashing into people all over the place.  And I hear clamor.