I analyze my writing chops and determine they’re good. Maybe too good, I think, quickly scanning the first few sentences of Reedsy’s past contest winners. But then I scan mine, and it’s indistinguishable. Still, I’m probably reading critically with an extra-large monocle lens, convinced we’re all just another cow in the herd. If none of them are special, then I’m not special.
I’m okay not being special. I’m me, and in me is a Rolodex of memories. Ups and downs, twists and turns, and knowing I lived all of that overfills my cup. Speaking of, I had a breakthrough today. A moment when, seeing tears in my eyes and Dave’s, and my arms wrapped around each other, Evelyn said, “Parents cry?” I swear I’ve cried in front of her before, but perhaps compared to her daily cries, my every few months don’t register.
So, yeah, I cried. And it was a good cry—the cathartic kind where, when you examine an old, run-of-the-mill memory, you see it differently. You see the costs and the pain, and instead of flipping pages over it, you stop and take a longing look. And what I saw was ongoing insecurity in multiple relationships that had been my norm. And I cried for how bad I felt that I’d been in that situation. Just talking about it and feeling its reverberation felt like a huge relief.
I had three hour-long phone calls today, each unrelated to counseling sessions—family and friends I got to be there for with my sharpened and honed listening skills. I think about how I’ve improved my listening by asking myself during moments of emotional reactivity: What are they needing? I pause at the question. I hold. I suspend and wait. I don’t jump in.
Listening in this way is changing my view of the world. It used to be like a kid’s perspective—where only my own city feels real, and the map of the United States or the world is just an idea. But now, through the way I’m listening, I’m aware of distances, topographies, different people, and distinct experiences.
That kind of listening is as nuanced and vast as the ocean, and it reminds me that it’s an area I’ll continually grow in—which is wild, especially when I know I’ve already made vast improvements. I imagine time’s continual passage as a kaleidoscope, refracting life into shifting prisms that will shape how I listen.
My latest goal is to be ruthless and cutthroat—in a self-protective, not harmful, way. During or after interactions, I can get stuck, insecure, or worried, and I haven’t known how to get out of it. This more direct, no-nonsense inner voice—like a parrot on my shoulder—is exactly what I needed. It feels like a big brother in the sky who strong-arms me out of situations so I can shake the excess crap off me like a duck. So far, it’s working.
Now, on with my night: practice a little Spanish, and plan a selfish weekend of doing what I want. This may include decluttering and getting rid of some of Evelyn’s too-young-for-her toys in anticipation of her birthday and Christmas coming up soon.
With that, I bid you adieu.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 