The silence between the notes

It seemed so simple. For my 10th birthday, I asked for my party colors to be pink , blue , and yellow —so there would be something for girls, boys, and anyone who didn’t like the color the color they were “supposed to like.” Lol. Because who says all girls have to like pink? Or all boys have to prefer blue?? Out of the mouth of babes, right?!  Just a few short 10...20...ish years later, I find that it's no longer so simple. As grown ups, we seem to have a lot of concrete ideas about what the people around us--including the children around us--do and wear and feel and express. But when...and why...did we start to think this was worth judging?? As people, we are so much more than pink or blue, or skirts or ties, or other people’s expectations of our identity! And that’s not meant as a new age idea or liberal agenda—I believe this idea can be completely independent from social or political propaganda. It’s simply about respect, and in some cases, about the willingness ...

Here I am again, after months of writing things and not posting them. I have in fact had a lot on my mind. (Those of you who know me personally are not at all shocked, I'm sure, but maybe someone out there doesn't yet realize that, so I felt it was fair to say.) But my whole life, I've done this thing where I have too much to say so I say nothing for a while while it bubbles up inside...then I try saying something and it all comes whipping out like a hurricane of nonsense...so then I go back to bottling it up and stating my need for "processing time." Guess that's what's been happening with my sporadic posting for the last few years too. Who would have guessed? Then there's this other thing I do when I don't know what to say--I obsess over a song, poem, essay, etc. in which someone else said what I couldn't. So to that end, I'm directing you to a few two articles by a cause that I admire very much: To Write Love on Her Arms. If you haven...