I was thinking about my goal of having adventures, wondering what an adventure would be. And I thought about all the things I want to write, the non-scientific writing that is. I am so walled in by the scientific method, that I feel a strong drive to explore that which is creative, mystical, uncertain. I want emotion and movement. I want creativity. I want to tell my story, or maybe my stories, to make a narrative of what happens when the ground beneath your feet falls away and yet you are still standing.

I’ve been telling myself for at least 5 years that this is what I would do when I retire, but to heck with that. I want to start now, here. I want to submit some things for publication.

What DO I want to write about? I want to tell the story of my mother’s 1960s life, punctuated by her fierce poems of frustration. I want to write about my father’s addiction, but even more, I want to write about his heroism as a quiet man in the civil rights movement, doing the right thing. I want to narrate what I’ve learned, that flawed people are capable of great heroism and strength. I want to write about how it feels to be told you have cancer. I would like sometimes just to laugh about the improbable quirks of life, like the time my little brother, mother, and I came home from a family vacation in a hearse.

I wonder if that is possible? It would give me such a feeling of accomplishment to tell the truth with humor and grace, to own my life without a mask of anonymity.

I wonder if that is possible?