Dear Eric: Over the past two years, I have buried both of my parents. My place in the world going forward feels uncertain and untethered, but in reflecting on their lives and long, long marriage, I now see that everything we are, we have, and we do – to me – really only matters through the lens of story.
From my earliest memory, I wanted to write. By middle school, I lost my way; I lost confidence. I’ve spent a 20+-year career reading others’ writing, both for my own leisure and that of my students. While I regularly encourage my students to write and I champion and believe in their emerging voices and attempts, I can’t do the same for myself.
At home, when I have free time, something stops me. I procrastinate, or I let my kids’ and my family’s obligations take up my entire day…