Beecher's Birds

"There are joys which long to be ours. God sends ten thousand truths, which come about us like birds seeking inlet; but we are shut up to them, and so they bring us nothing, but sit and sing awhile upon the roof, and then fly away." - Henry Ward Beecher

The greatest gift you can give a writer is to ask her to write.

Why haven't I been writing? I feel like an old cooked transulucent onion, stuck to the bottom of the stove, nothing to offer the world. Depression, maybe.

I am the woman who gets invited to a meeting to hear a grand new idea and then when she shows up, tries her best to control the meeting and everyone there.

I am the waitress you will take your sandwich order and bring you the special anyway.

I fight and manipulate to make sure my way holds in spite of any new information or dissenting opinions.

I am a fighter who can win any battle at work and has all the connections and they have no idea who they're dealing with and I like it that way.

My soul has bags under her eyes.

I have had to fight at work, for about 15 months now, and maybe a little at home too, fight to keep my identity. But in the process I've holed up and blocked myself from change. Survival mechanism, I suppose.

In all the fighting and surviving and winning I can't imagine any fun or enjoyment in life. Writing, sex, food, play, exercise hold no allure for me. In my fortress it's no fun. Those little birds of Beecher's are on the tin fortress roof, so small and delicate in the sunshine that I can't hear them through the stone.

So what advice do I have for myself? What is this warrior princess to do?

Well, the advice that will always hold true for me, no matter if I'm six or ninety, is don't take myself so seriously.

And I feel my sister on the sidelines with her sign that reads, "Let Go." Learn to let go.

What if I did show up to a meeting and didn't try to drive the outcome? What if I learned to listen?

Now my sister switches signs. The new one says, "Letting Go Is Not Giving Up."