Dear friends, I hope you’ll forgive my barely-edited ramblings tonight—
I’m overwhelmed right now by your comments. Some of you leave comments on Facebook, where I post links to this blog, others leave comments here. Some of you tell me in person that you have been reading, and some of you send emails. And I don’t know how to respond, exactly, except to say a very heartfelt thank you. I’m listening. I’m paying attention to what you comment on, and I’m trying to learn from it how to be a better writer and a better person. I often feel that I could do a better job responding to what you say, and I can only plead old shy-girl habits, feelings of not having the social grace to respond “correctly.” But thank you for coming back here and reading and responding. You are a blessing, and I do believe you are changing my life. I have no idea how to repay that kind of generosity.
I’m overwhelmed, too, by this day. I feel this urge to say something, to remember, to be wise and serious and hopeful. But I feel like anything I personally have to add is a little cheap. I wasn’t in New York City, or Pennsylvania, or Washington D.C., and while the events of September 11, 2001 affected me deeply, my share of the story is nothing compared to that of those who were more directly involved. Suffice it to say, I remember thinking that it was quite possible the world as I knew it was falling apart right in front of my eyes. It was also the day that Oldest took his first steps alone. And until ten years ago, the significance of September 11th in my life was that it is the day between my mom’s birthday and mine. Now personal joy is forever mixed with communal horror and grief, and there is no denying the darkness, even while I try to keep my focus on the light.
How do you respond to feeling overwhelmed? I tend to get very quiet and withdrawn, to cut myself off from the people around me. After a time I hit a point where I need to talk, write, make things, play music; in essence, to communicate. And coming back out of myself to find other people again—that in itself can be an overwhelming experience. But oh, finding the light, basking in it naked and blinking in the company of friends—that is a beautiful thing. Thank you for letting me know you’re all around me.
