A Girl Named Eve

I went to a memoir-writing workshop recently. I don't want to be the girl who cries at the slightest thing but, in this case, I was. They asked the question: who told you, you can't write? We had to state our writing demons, and then  write out the dialog between this inner critique and our retaliation to their remarks.  Ultimately, it is only ourselves that can hold us back from our own dreams. But sometimes we've internalized the voices of others tell us that we can't.  I'd done this exercise before privately, in my own bed, in my own room, and in my own journal but never out loud. When we were done, we had to go around the table and read the dialog. I was picked the first to go. Before I could even let out a word, my throat choked up, my face turn red, and my eyes began to water. I read and cried. We all cried. I thought I had left all that hurt hidden away on paper somewhere, and there it was strangling me. I can't begin to describe that whole situation wi...

I have found that blogging is a good way for me to feel my own pulse. I read through my past posts, and it puts me at a time and place in my life. There are so many moments I find blog-worthy. Ironically, I find it hardest to write about things I enjoyed the most. I wanted to write a great review to a play that I saw, or a trip that I took, but I was paralyzed on how to begin. I remember the advice from writing books I’ve read tell me to begin, and I do. I’m currently sitting on a collection of drafts that I’m waiting for a wave of inspiration to roll through me so I can finish them off one evening with a glass of red wine. Actually, it’s more like I’m waiting for this fatigue to finish wearing off so that when I do write, it can be pretty and clever, instead of tired and spent like I’ve been feeling. I was having one of those weeks were if I was a smoker in remission, I would have picked up a cigarette and had a long drawn out puff that would have shattered my months or even years o...

My husband and I signed up for a local, 30 and over, co-ed soccer league that plays on Sunday evenings. We started our own team of soccer misfits, which consisted of soccer newbies, coach potatoes, and former recreational soccer stars. Most of the team had never met until literally minutes before our first game, and some of our key players weren’t able to make it. On the way to the game, my husband warned me that this new league would be harder than the scrimmages I’d played. I couldn’t see how. I was pretty confident in my ability to defend, and I thought, maybe he's just never really seen me play. The Kung Fu Panda in me wants to win the Championships this season, so I was very hopeful. We ended up losing 0 to 12+. We played against one of the better teams that have been playing for 2 years. Individually, they weren't that fast, but they knew how to play as a team. They kicked the ball long and high, and took shots from afar, which made it feel more like a volleyball game....