As I struggle with beginning a new year, new school semester, new page in a beleaguered website/blog – sans the much-needed downtime I promised myself over the break – I found this gem, with a h/t to my mentor and friend Rebecca Kuder:
“The work has become the dance of promotion. The other stuff, the writing and the singing and the dancing, feels increasingly secondary.”
I don’t want the writing to be secondary any longer.
At the airport on the last leg of what had turned into a three-flight, 15-hour day, we arrived at our final gate. We had to change airlines and it was a hike from the United terminal to the less glittering American terminal. There, in the white chairs that had a distinctly ’70s feel to them, we plopped our backpacks and fanned out the boarding tickets, the five of us choosing once more between aisle and window. It was our first airplane trip together – Chris, me, and our three kids – and though we’d gotten through the week together fairly well, there was also a sense of relief that we were nearly home.
In the seating area at our gate was an elderly woman in a wheelchair who was accompanied by a short man who was younger than her though it was hard to tell by how much. A younger husband? An…
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