Breaking the Rules

Yesterday afternoon I went to my writing class in Warren, Rhode Island taught by Hannah R. Goodman. We meet in an old mill building that has been converted into retail and office space. The conference room is on the first floor in the center of the building so it has no windows. Lighted with bright fluorescent lights it is like an underground bunker. There are many sounds. People walking overhead. The heat coming on and off. And yesterday there was this creaking. I hadn’t heard that before. What the hell was it?

There are eight people in the class counting myself. We all know each other from previous classes except for Keri. She is new. She drove all the way from Warwick. Now that’s commitment. At the beginning of class, I announced my book, Not of My Making, will be sent to the printer by mid-March. People congratulated me. Somewhere during the following chitchat I said something about wishing the events in the book had never happened. Linda said look at the good that has come out of it. I wrote a book. It is like I had to lose myself to find myself. I have finally emptied myself as Andrew Sung Park wrote in The Wounded Heart of God, from other people’s false projections.

I am feeling fabulous lately. I am sleeping soundly. I am productive. I am growing my practice, learning to market myself and writing better and better. I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a good husband, healthy children and a grandson. I’ve come a long way.

My life has been well lived. It doesn’t matter what my enemies think. I have defied the rules. When all I was supposed to aspire to was popularity, marriage and children I went after and earned my doctorate. I didn’t marry the right man either. I crossed racial lines and married the man that was good for me. After 31 years, we are still in love with each other.

Breaking the rules is better than going along and being nice. During the conflict at my former church when confidences were broken and I protested, I was told it was wrong to be angry. I was also told I wasn’t civil. I appear to have a different definition of civil.

Any way, I wrote Not of My Making about my experiences. Now I am moving forward. I have finally come into my own. I am one hot grandma on rollerblades.