I’m stepping out of my comfort zone, pushing myself to stretch my creative muscle and continue to learn. That’s nothing new (not really). It feels like my life has been in flux for the past 6 years, shifting from one life-altering upheaval to the next.
This evolution is self-inflicted, though. I’ve found myself feeling stagnant and needing to be jolted out of my near zombie state.
I’ve thought about embarking on this new path for a while, and with the help and push from just the right people- here it is. My first poem video.
If you spend the 2 minutes watching it, I would appreciate any feedback, reactions, or suggestions you may have.
Here, poetry and art collide; and, more than anything, I hope it inspires you to keep (or start) creating.
I’ve spent the past few weeks reflecting on 2023. Accomplishments, struggles, points of joy, rush of tears. And looking forward towards 2024. The precipice of new chances, new beginnings, possible endings, and the brink of the unknown. There is a lot I’ve wanted to say. To write down. But I haven’t managed to put it all into adequate words.
So, instead- here’s my word for 2024 —> S P A C E <—
As in: making space in my life for new things. Clearing out clutter that weighs me down. Making space for new people, new opportunities, new feelings, new experiences. As in: holding space for others. Meeting them where they are, without judgement. Accepting them as they are, without expectation. As in: giving space to situations and circumstances, without anxiety.
2024 will not be “my year” or “the best year ever.” Like any other year or day, it will be a mixed bag. There will be causes to celebrate, heartbreak to endure, and love to give and receive.
Let us meet each new day with a replenished store of grace to offer others, joy for ourselves, and hope for our world.
It still takes my breath away. Realizing there never will be any new pictures. After I’ve recycled all the best and my favorite photos of us, of you… there will be no others.
No new memories to be made. No more laughter at silly mistakes. No more time to get things right. No more chances at a marathon. No new medals or PR bells.
The rush of anger that overtakes me— still, after 4 years— of letting go of everything we had and all that we wanted. It surprises me even now.
I have work to do. Some that I’ve tackled. Some that I’ve used simply to keep me busy and preoccupied. Some that I continue to avoid. Mainly because I fear what it will cost me in the doing.
Because I am afraid.
Of feeling too much.
Of feeling not enough.
Of forgetting.
Mostly— I am afraid of forgetting.
Happiness no longer shames me. But, if I am smiling in the now, will I still be able to hold your face in my mind? Will I still hear the echo of your laughter when I close my eyes? Will my stubborn determination to see the light of each new day still allow a space for you?
I believe it does.
Because even 2,103,840 minutes have not dulled the sharp edge of your loss. Fourteen hundred sixty-one days without you have not lessened the love you left behind.
Cloudless October sky, so much like the day you left. I wrap its beauty around me as grief twists and knots within me, and I acknowledge that I am capable of holding both simultaneously.
It is the complexity of our uniquely human experience. And I do not want to miss out on any part of it.
Friends in the Central Louisiana area, look for upcoming announcements on availability at local retail locations.
Thank you to everyone who has already ordered! “Pretty Little Widow” is currently at number 10 on the Amazon New Releases in Poetry by Women list!!! Thank YOU!
This project has been one more step in my journey through grief. I am grateful for the friends that have traveled with me and the lessons of love I am learning on the way.
Shelley Jinks Johnson 