Cry. (For Dan)

I am an ugly crier.

Some people, when they cry, have a peacefulness -- a sort of beauty -- to them.  Which I will never understand.  Most of the time tears come from pain, whether physical or emotional, and how do people have that peacefulness when that pain is rocking their bodies to the point of tears?

Of course, happy tears are always beautiful, no matter how contorted the face may become.

I cannot tell you if these tears that are flowing right now are stemming from pain or happiness, but they are flowing.  Actually, I am sure it is a mixture of both, each caused by the experience of great love.  I can see my reflection in the computer screen, my mouth drawn tight, quivering; redness spreading over my cheeks.  My whole body shaking. Snot dripping down from my nose.

Like I said, I am an ugly crier.

I had glanced at the notes that Dan made on my manuscript when he returned it to me in January.  In fact, I had read most of them.  Just not in order.  But today, as I sat down and read them, focused on them, contemplated them, I went from the first page to the last.  Which means I re-read, for the most part, my entire story.  I got to the last page, and I couldn't hold back the tears.  The sobs.

In the margin, Dan wrote in blue ink, "I'm crying too."

Thank you for crying with me.  Thank you.

And to answer your question, yes, I still have the sea glass.  I will show it to you sometime. It's beautiful.

Connect.

Technology is a powerful tool for many things.  Keeping in touch, paying bills, entertaining us.  It is through technology that I have somewhat found my voice in writing.  It is still a work in progress.

Technology has also allowed friendships to grow.  If it weren't for MSN messenger and emails and Skype, my best friendship -- that with Paulo -- would not have developed.  If it were not for MySpace and Facebook, other friendships would have stagnated.  If it were not for Blogger, I would never have met some of the people that I call friends today.

I talked to my friend Danielle yesterday via Skype.  She lives in Brazil and we have bonded over a love for our Brazilian men and a desire to learn how to cook and eat 'real' food.  And now we are bonding over writing.  We may have only spent about one hour together in person, yet it seems like we have known each other for awhile.  Something about following each other's lives via the web...

Reading what she shared with me allowed me to glimpse even deeper into who she is.  And I realize that is the purpose of writing, to dig a little deeper into who we are.  Because we all have layers to ourselves that maybe even we don't know are there.  Writing gets that out.  Sharing that writing allows others to see us for who we are discovering ourselves to be.

“We read to know that we are not alone.” — C.S. Lewis 

Picture found via weheartit.com

Share.

I have plunged in.  The book is now being read to my students.

"One more chapter!" they plead.

Maybe they want one more chapter; maybe they just want to avoid Math.

Whatever the case, we have finished three chapters together and their attention is fully on my words, my journey.

I am opening up.  I guess I just needed to wait for the right time.  For me to have confidence that someone would actually want to hear.

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a tellar but for want of an understanding ear.”  
                                                                                                       ~Steven King

Collide.

Three things happened today.  Three things that had they happened separately, not together, would not have meant that much.  But together they spoke to me.

1 -- I opened my email to find something from Eric, writing back about my manuscript I had sent him the day before.  He needed reading material and I never even really talked to him about my book project before, yet I figured he might be into it.  He was.  And this email had comments -- both strengths and weaknesses -- for the first seven chapters.  It was beautiful.

2 -- Someone that interviewed me over the phone for an article in Spectrum Magazine wrote to me today and said she saw my manuscript at a friend's house and looked through it.  The opening line, she said, was very catchy.  Simple words, but still...

3 -- One of my girls from Ebeye just posted something on Facebook, recalling some memories from her fifth grade year, calling all her classmates to recall their memories from that year that they had 'the B E S T teacher ever'.  Messages started popping up... the time they ditched class with me when I was sick; going swimming at Beach Park; taking me to the dock to say goodbye...

I still cry a little when I see that.

I don't think that will ever change.

But these three things came at just the right time.  Alone, they make me happy.  Together, they tell me to pick it up, dust it off, and do something with it.

It is time.