Back to Words
For the past months I've told myself that when my little girl is born, I'd get back to words. I'm not sure why I wanted to wait until she was here with me before I started to write again, except that it has to do with making her proud. A while ago a friend went to hear a wise woman speak at a conference. This friend told me that the thing she took away from thewoman's speech was the call and need for women to tell their stories, and not just tell them, but write them. A tangible history: one we can hold between our fingers and read the words aloud to. Hear our own histories and those of others.Many years ago I was involved in an art project that took me to Portland, Provo and New York City with a tape recorder, a polaroid camera and a request: tell me about your name. Everyone had something to say because everyone had a name. The request wasn't exclusive to sociality, money, appearance or anything else, just, tell me about your name. I found myself on more than a few occasions getting choked up as we talked to strangers on the steps of the MOMA, at the farmer's market in Portland, in the parks, and while we sat in restaurants eating our lunch. I think I was moved by the fact that every person not only had a story, but had a story full of depth and fiber that wanted to be told and listened to. I think I've told myself that I'll tell my stories again now that baby Thea Harper is here because I want very much for her to tell her own, and I love that I can be at the beginning of it.
For the past months I've told myself that when my little girl is born, I'd get back to words. I'm not sure why I wanted to wait until she was here with me before I started to write again, except that it has to do with making her proud. A while ago a friend went to hear a wise woman speak at a conference. This friend told me that the thing she took away from thewoman's speech was the call and need for women to tell their stories, and not just tell them, but write them. A tangible history: one we can hold between our fingers and read the words aloud to. Hear our own histories and those of others.Many years ago I was involved in an art project that took me to Portland, Provo and New York City with a tape recorder, a polaroid camera and a request: tell me about your name. Everyone had something to say because everyone had a name. The request wasn't exclusive to sociality, money, appearance or anything else, just, tell me about your name. I found myself on more than a few occasions getting choked up as we talked to strangers on the steps of the MOMA, at the farmer's market in Portland, in the parks, and while we sat in restaurants eating our lunch. I think I was moved by the fact that every person not only had a story, but had a story full of depth and fiber that wanted to be told and listened to. I think I've told myself that I'll tell my stories again now that baby Thea Harper is here because I want very much for her to tell her own, and I love that I can be at the beginning of it.
2 comments:
Yes, tell those stories.
And this would be why your blog is one of the very few (only, really) that I follow; it's wonderful.
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