After a two week hiatus I’m back to blogging. I only took a break to polish up a few stories that I’ve been working on. I had gotten so deep into my writing mode, that I almost forgot that I had a public blog. This only means progress, right? I had been typing so much during the snow storms that I got carpal tunnel and had to slow down a bit on my wrist. But I pulled through, and here I am typing a new blog.
I haven’t been following up on astrology lately, but the last time I heard, there was a Solar Eclipse on January 4th. From what I’ve read, Solar Eclipse always falls on a new moon, and new moons open paths to new experiences and opportunities. This is not too far-fetched given the drastic changes that have happened in my life over the past week, for the better. Let’s just say I’ve finally found the balance that I need in my work, school, and creative life, and it shows.
One particular experience that touched me this weekend was an encounter with a former church sister, a mild mannered middle-age woman in her late forties. Once upon a time when I attended church regularly I formed relationships with people who still, to this day, would inquire about my well-being. But I haven’t seen this particular church sister in the two years since I left the church. Yet somehow she remembered that I had expressed a passion for writing. At the café where I was hovered over my laptop, I heard someone say my name. When I turned, it was her. “So you’re finally doing it!” She said with a wide smile. It took me a second to remember her face with a new haircut that made her look ten years younger than I remembered. In that moment I remembered she was the one who prayed with me when I sought direction in pursuing my dream. She was the one who said I would be amazing at what I do and that I should just step out on faith. “Yes, I’m writing full time now,” I told her, suppressing the urge to hug her as I told her this. Of course, given that I was in a Brooklyn cafe surrounded by other writers who glanced in my direction the minute we started to talk, I lowered my voice.
My church sister clapped her hands in delight, oblivious to the stares as if I had just told her I published a book that made it to Oprah Winfrey’s book club. I smiled along with her, happy that I had this support all along. “What are your stories about?” She asked as she sat down across from me. I gulped my chai tea and glanced nervously at one of the writers, a fellah at the table next to mine wearing a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, sporting a blondish fuzz around his face—as I searched for the right words. I looked my church sister in the eyes, saw her smiling expectantly and knew I couldn’t lie to her.
I cleared my throat and replied, “Lesbians.” There was noise in the background, someone had spilled a cup of coffee on a communal counter, a toddler was crying, a siren was passing by. “What was that? Sorry I didn’t hear you with all this noise,” my church sister said, scooting closer. Glad that she didn’t hear me the first time, I wondered if I should fabricate something about what I write about. “My stories—I mean I write—ah—this might not be something you’d be interested in. It’s a bit controversial,” I said. She moved closer. “Interesting. What do you write about?” She repeated. I scratched my head and looked down at my computer. “This might not be a—,” I stopped myself and decided to just spit it out. “I write about lesbians.”
To my surprise she was still smiling. “What about lesbians?” She asked. I told her. As I explained the details, she nodded like a student taking in an important lesson. When I was done, she said, “You didn’t have to be ashamed to tell me what you write about. I think it’s wonderful. Everyone needs a voice and you’re providing that voice. And besides, other people may learn from it and identify with it too.” I wanted to hug her when she said this. Here was a woman who I thought would’ve judged me to my face given my topic of interest and what I never admitted to being while in the church. But instead, she welcomed my ideas and offered her support. Handing me her business card she said, “Call me. We should get together soon. You will reach more people than you think with your words. Next time, don’t hesitate to talk about it no matter who asks.” With that she gathered her belongings, including an oversized Bible. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. You got some very important work to do, missy,” she said before she left.
I never realized that I was holding my breath all along until she closed the door behind her and I let out a loud sigh. Of course, there was a huge smile on my face that never went away. On my way home, I whispered a prayer, my first in a long time to the only person who must have been watching all along—the one who sent me this pleasant reminder that my steps are being ordered. “Thank you,” I said.
Nicole © 2011
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