Coming Home

593-Amari Moments-IMG_8646.jpg

The truth is I am deathly nervous. It’s been a while; it’s been so long since I last sat down alone with my thoughts. Listen, writing is not easy. It’s like a wrestling match in my head. I’m in the ring trying to pin down each fleeting memory, each sacred moment. Sometimes I find myself literally banging my head on the table, forcing a word, a sentence out. Or I close my eyes and place my hands over them to block out everything around me so that I can feel the entirety of the thought. It’s easier not to write; it’s easier to say I can just live through it all and call it a day. 

But a few months ago, I realized I was knee-deep in untold stories. There were beautiful ones, painful ones, wild ones, ordinary ones – stories all ripe for the picking. Each and every one awed me. How was I going to tell them all? More importantly, could I even give them the justice they deserve? To the nights I cried in pain as I fed my babe? To the moment I wished I was carefree and single again? To the day my firstborn turned one? To the lessons I learned as we had no home? Words had escaped me. Mom brain, I excused myself.

Weeks and months passed as the storyteller in me was in hibernation. Or so I thought it was.

One day, it wanted to come alive again. I found a strong, lingering energy in me that called for action; that desired to roll out the words and cast light on marriage, motherhood, womanhood, life. I remember it so vividly. It took such a great hold of me that I sat down with my husband and told him that I needed to write again. There were sparks flying all around the room that night.

A few months ago, I realized I was knee-deep in untold stories.

And now here I am. I’m still afraid of so many things: of rejection, of humiliation, of vulnerability. All those paralyzed me for a long time. But now I am convinced that the fear will never go away. I think it's meant to stay because if you allow it, fear can fuel you with enough strength to - wait for it - be humble. All along, I thought I had to wrestle, to fight, to pin down.  The hidden truth is the stories are much bigger.  And the secret is to surrender yourself and be a witness. I have to admit: the view is more beautiful from down here. 

To the stories that chose me as their character, thank you. It's been a momentous year.  I am so rich in material - both special ones and ordinary ones - that I cannot let it rot in the back of my head. After all, life was meant to be shared. It's our job to find out how. Some do it through a speech, a song, a film, a sculpture. I've chosen to do it through the written word -- an art painful in so many ways yet also so arresting. I can't believe I'm home again. It's been too long, I forgot how good it feels to write. Thank you for welcoming me back with open, forgiving arms. Here we go. 

The truth is the stories are much bigger. Surrender yourself.
203-Amari Moments-IMG_8331 copy.jpg