One of the things I like about writing vs. speaking is the opportunity to avoid saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, after I write a post, the Editor says: “Are you sure you want to say that?” or “Do you really want to go there?”
She might point out that what I wrote has a meaning I didn’t know. She might remind me of one of the meanings I do know about, and explain that I shouldn’t expect my readers to understand that it wasn’t what I meant. Sometimes, I explain my way around things.
Sometimes she draws a red line, and gives me the look that implies that her advice is non-negotiable.
I’m a little less safe when it comes to comments. As you might have guessed, given the typos, no one edits my comments. What you don’t realize is how often I write a comment but don’t post it. Staring at my thoughts in the little window, with that “Post” button beckoning, sometimes gives me pause.
When Laura over at RFTM posted about adoption issues, and how she felt like she was on a tight rope, my first thought was: “do NOT comment” – I mean what do I know about her situation? There are so many differences between her life as a parent, and my role in our daughter’s childhood, that I am clearly not qualified to offer advice to Laura.
In addition to that, there’s that part of my brain that said: “dude, women don’t always want an answer. Sometimes they just want to say stuff.” The Editor is probably shaking her head as she reads this.
(un)Fortunately, there’s a bigger part of my brain that said: “maybe you could share a bit of your experience that she would find helpful.” I mean, it’s possible…right?
You can laugh.
I heard women laughing in my brain when I wrote that.
OK, I was on shaky ground, but I’ve gotten more comfortable commenting on the blogs of women, ever since Sammy ventured down the lingerie aisle and dared me to follow.
I wanted to share something, because Laura touched on a topic that is close to my heart – being lucky. When I was a kid, we were often reminded of the fact that we were lucky – usually when we complained about not having something. Despite my wanting to point to some other kid and shout to my father: “no, he’s the one who’s lucky!” I understood that our life could have been much worse. If you walked around the neighborhood I grew up in, “lucky” might not be the word that would come to mind, but it should be.
I’m sure that sometimes the message was: “you are lucky” but I remember that it was often: “we are lucky” unless the message was coming from my grandmother. If it was my grandmother, the message was: “we are blessed” and St. George was responsible. She would follow with a story from her childhood in Syria. Given the vast disparity between her childhood and mine, and the fact that she felt that she was blessed, my being lucky became apparent.
The other lesson that has become apparent is that we weren’t only lucky when compared to unlucky people. Luck doesn’t appear at a specific income bracket, geographic boundary, medical state, marital state, or Internet speed. Luck doesn’t arrive with an acceptance letter. Luck isn’t waiting at a vacation spot, it doesn’t come with a specific car model, cell phone or gadget.
Having people around you that care about you means you are lucky. Knowing that you are a child of God means you are lucky. And, especially for those of you that I follow, having talent and the opportunity to explore that talent means you are lucky.
Happy New Year
As you might guess from the gallery, it’s still pretty cold here. The video is one of my favorite songs. Leon Russel “Tight Rope” which was a theme in Laura’s post.