Cracking Open the Shell

This little blue notebook with 200 pages of graph paper, meant for another purpose entirely, was stolen away from my husband's pile for me to covet alone. Years ago, now. The pages are fraying, some with stains, ink blotches, and yet others, so tidily organized I wonder if it was someone else who'd adorned these page with such eloquent messages and goals.

It's January, 2024, and I flip through the scribbled pages to find a blank one, contemplating how to begin my list of goals for this fresh New Year. I light a candle, run my hands along the coil bookbinding and decide to flip back through and indulge in some of my previous musings. My finger stops on "Goals for 2021," and I smile at this somewhat simplified list. 2021, the world was in so much chaos, and yet, my goals turn inward, hopeful. Third down the list in buoyant cursive it states -

Dedicate more time to write, challenge myself.

I flip through to the middle of 2021, where I serendipitously exclaim:

"I won my first Vocal challenge!"

It was my first attempt at fiction, and subsequently the first time I shared my soul with the public. When I received the email that I had come in second place in the Dream Date challenge, the world stopped moving for a moment. My whole face smiled from the inside-out. There we sat, my two girls and I, at the dining room table. Schools were closed due to the pandemic, and so they each sat behind screens, engaged in their online classrooms, and I, at my own laptop. I held in my squeal of excitement until I heard both of their teachers release them for their lunch breaks. Finally, I let out a shriek and blurted it out.

"I won! I won my writing contest! Second place!" The girls jumped off their chairs and the three of us twirled around the room, embracing in one tangled ball of joy.

I smile now at the memory, and what it meant for us all. For myself, I remember feeling validation, gratitude, and a surge of purpose flowing through my veins. For my girls it meant possibility, gave hope in such a dark time, to reach for their own goals and dreams.

I flip the pages again through many gratitude lists, and land on one from January 2022, which is half a page of what appears to be ramblings. A closer look reveals the continuing dark times we faced and my headspace in that moment. I write, "Transmute and diffuse arguments with love. Feel when you are called to make change, and when you should remain quiet." Later on it says, "write more, share your writing. Encourage others." Again, I recall back to 2022, and the feeling one late afternoon in July, sitting on a picnic bench while my girls wacked golf balls around a mini putt course. My cellphone alerted that an email had come through. At first glance, seeing it was from Vocal, I clicked eagerly. "Congratulations, you won first place in the Father's Day Challenge for your story, That April." That familiar wave of elation washed over me. I yelled out for the whole mini putt park to hear.

"I won!"

We rejoiced, celebrating over bulging scoops of ice cream dripping down sugared waffle cones. The midsummer sun shone brilliantly on us, and in that moment, I felt that this life was a dream I never wanted to wake from.

Skimming ahead through more pages of healthy meal plans I hoped to maintain, to-do lists revolving around house projects, and finally, I stop at my Goals for 2023. This list includes a less eloquently written, more militant style. It includes:

Sticking to a workout routine and seeing results.

Budgeting.

Organizing specific rooms.

Win a writing challenge in 2023.

Somewhere over the course of 2023, I had returned to this page and simply put a small penciled check mark on items I completed. Of the list of 10 items, four checkmarks stared back at me:

Keep a cleaner home. Check.

Organize the spare room into an office space. Check.

Win a writing challenge in 2023. Two small grey checkmarks.

Two of my stories in 2023 became Runners Up for contests; the Passing Ships challenge, and Father's Footprint challenge. I also received three Top Stories in 2023. When I reflect on what this means, I envision myself inside a shell, and with each story I share, the shell cracks open a little more and I feel the light pouring in. I feel a raw humanness in myself and a connection to those that commented on my words.

I stare at the blank page before me for 2024. I try to conjure up the feeling I get when someone has read one of my stories, and takes the time to respond. I go back to that page from 2022. "Write more, share your writing. Encourage others." I decide that 2024 is about the latter part of that goal. Encourage others. I resolve to give the gift of that feeling of elation when a new comment is on their story. To share work that isn't my own. To break out of the shell fully and focus on seeing, not just being seen.

January 2024 - I simply write:

Share.