Let me start by saying it seems impossible to me that I’ve not posted anything here (ie. I’ve not written anything more than a Tweet) in A YEAR. What? Good grief. Anyway, on to the substance!
I found this from an archived post by the wonderful Jeri Walker and thought it might be fun (and potentially revealing!) to give it a go. It wasn’t implied that it be a self-portrait, but that’s where my head went. While this is something very different than what’s usually here, I hope someone enjoys reading it. I liked writing it.
I think sometimes I will always be angry.
I don’t look good in red so why does my face so often show it?
Am I an old steam powered boiler, destined to burst as the pressure increases?
Knowing is half the battle, but so where is the outline for how to handle the other half?
It doesn’t exist, the way isn’t paved.
Most days I just want my shirt to fit better.
I hope my children remember me not as just angry, but passionate and deeply caring.
Bears aren’t always mean, right Yogi?
Grumpy grizzlies gradually grow into grey grumbling grandpas.
I want, more than anything, to smile by default.
Red should be associated with baseball on the TV and the smell of brats on the grill.
With my wonderful family all so close I really should be happy as a clam.
I want that. Angry isn’t who I am.