With a broken heart I write about love. What else can I do? It’s the beginning and the end, the foundation deep and the pinnacle high. The middle of the messy journey (and the ultimate destination).
I want to think about love, I want to conform my mind in celebration and expectation. It’s worthy of my meditation, more than the hopeless negativity. The world doesn’t need more of that, right?
My mother will say “you sound so happy in your letters.” Yes, I do. Do you want me to write about hopeless devastation, crying myself to sleep in grief? I can do that too. Maybe I should share the unappealing; cats screeching from the dumpster, the ever present male gaze, fizzled spiritual interest, team disunity, child neglect, smoky taxis, oppressive poverty, racism, the exhaustion of continually not belonging, and on and on. I probably have some good pictures of that.
But I’d rather showcase the adventure, the hope, the potential. Leaning into positivity is still authentically me, even if it’s just one angle. Besides, If I tell you the truth, will you respond with compassion? If I share how hard it is, will you even care? Will you doubt my ROI?
Maybe if you called, I would tell you how I’m really doing. It changes moment by moment, and if we open that can of worms they may not fit back in. But in this mass marketing email, I’m selling a version of myself that needs to exist in this space. Or I feel she does.
It’s safer to write fiction based on reality, because the narrative is easier. It can be controlled for effect. Or come visit me, and you can share in the reality, which is better tasted. As they say in writing, “Show, don’t tell”.
Is it better to take a question of being too positive (or fake?) than an accusation that I’m exaggerating and being dramatic?
If you’ve not opted out, than you consent to be on this journey. And I will lament, but not in the newsletter. That’s not the forum. This is a sitcom. We wrap of in 22 minutes minus commercials, so don’t fret. A new episode will be released next month.
