I can’t believe it’s been one year since I started this blog Stories for the Journey: Reflections on Life and the Spirit.
I’ve written a little more than one post per week, about 57. As a former deadline-driven journalist, that amazes even me.
To be honest, this is so much better than journalism. I love writing this blog.
My deepest wish is that this past year you’ve found something — any one thing — that stirred you, inspired you, made you reflect or smile.
If so, I’d love to hear what it was. Or perhaps, what you didn’t like. We writers do love feedback!
So thanks for traveling the journey with me this past year.
I’m so grateful to each of you who have taken the time to read my words. To read the stories I’ve shared.
In honor of one year of this blog, I thought I’d take you back to the beginning, my first blog post below. The words still hold true.
May we continue to find hope and comfort together in sharing our stories for the journey. With so much gratitude to you all!
In the beginning … was The Word.
As a writer, I’ve always resonated to that. As a spiritual being, I love it. The Word. The power of the Holy Word, the energy of words and how we use them to tell stories.
And we each have a story. Indeed, we are all living stories, the word made flesh. We each embody words that whisper, shout and tell the world who we are — stories that speak of our joys and sorrows, our dreams and hopes.
My hope for Stories for the Journey blog is to share some of my own stories, hoping you will find your own heart — or a piece of it — in what I share. I hope to write about the sacred and the secular and everything else in between.
So here’s a short story to introduce myself. I was born in Brownsville, Texas, in the Rio Grande Valley. When I was 10, my father’s work transferred him to the Philadelphia area. That one move changed my life. Forever.
I was an alien in a strange land, a place that felt cold, dark, dirty and where people moved and talked quickly. They didn’t drawl or dawdle, stop to sit a spell or bother to wave at you.
Even worse, I talked “funny.” My Texas twang in fourth grade elicited out-loud laughter from my classmates, much to the good Sister’s chagrin.
So I adapted. I learned I needed to fit in. But I never did. I’m learning now, in my old age, that maybe that’s been a good thing.
Perhaps because of all this, or in spite of it, I became a creative writer. A journalist.
You would think by now I would have been blogging for ages. But I haven’t. This is new to me. I am of the generation not-so technically inclined. So bear with me as I stumble along the way.
But back to the writing. Yes, I’ve won lots of awards. They’ve been nice, I admit. However, they’re not everything.
Outside validation isn’t as authentic as what we believe in our souls — the stories we tell ourselves about who we really are.
I’m sure we all have stories about not fitting in, feeling like we don’t belong. Ultimately, I believe we are all misfits and displaced people. At heart we are all homesick, whether it’s a spiritual yearning or coming home to ourselves. Both are really the same.
David Whyte, one of my favorite poets, says it best:
“We are the destination inside us and beyond us, and the journey along the way all at once, the one who makes it and the one who has already made it … we are alone in the journey and are just about to meet the people we have known for years …”
So. I am thankful that I’m about to meet you — each one of you — strangers whom I’ve known for years. My hope is we find comfort and hope together in sharing our Stories for the Journey.