For the last 3.5 years, I’ve had hundreds maybe thousands of people read my writings. I’m not published or anything (yet), but who knows! Sometimes you stumble into dreams coming true. People ask me how I come up with what I write—if they only knew how many random things exist in my brain! For instance, the other day I had a squirrel hold eye contact with me for a very long time. I’m talking minutes. And as we all assume, squirrels have ADHD. This squirrel proved otherwise, reminding me that sometimes even predictability can be unpredictable. I’ve seen some breathtaking wintry sunsets over the last few weeks. A sky streaked with fiery oranges and deep blues commanded a “wow” from my very lips. On a recent visit to NYC, I took the subway (G train) to Greenpoint, Brooklyn. There was a gentlemen, presumably homeless, who entered the car mid-ride. His goal was clear: Ask the passengers for money and food. If you’ve ever lived in New York City, you learn the how to’s (and power) of eye contact. This man seemed kind in his requests and had some friendly banter to anyone willing to look his way. I held my kindle, reading but also listening to him as he walked past my bench. Someone offered him an apple which he took, genuinely grateful. This made me smile, though my eyes were still on my kindle. Then I heard him say with a friendly, clear tone, “I see you, Red.” I’m guessing this is a common experience for those of us with red hair. It’s happened to me so often, it’s equal to someone saying my name. I pop my head up his direction and make eye contact. He has a smile on his face and says, “I love your hair.” Oh man, sometimes humanity really does sparkle. I said, “Thank you" and chuckled quietly, aware of half the train car involved in the exchange. He then proceeded to share that he has a kid with red hair. “Can you believe it!?” He exclaimed, his own hair a dark brown with a bit of gray. He laughed in the tee-he-he kind of way as the train pulled in the next station. He left and my eyes went back to my kindle. If I may humbly say, it was not the first time a homeless person has offered me a hair compliment. I pray it’s not the last. I can keep going. I saw a pigeon eating a slice of pizza. Santa told me that he used to be a redhead. There was a rodeo in Georgia that I went to and at one point, with our phone flashlights engaged, they turned off all the lights and we sang, Don’t Stop Believing. I kid you not, this is my life. I could write story upon story about each one of these things. And this is from real experiences. Do you even want to know what my imagination is up to? I can tell you this, it typically involves nature speaking, only to me, in audible voices.
I’m not working right now so I hope to write and dream more. I drew a lion. I think because I've had several people mention the word courage to describe me. It’s a big word that I don’t attribute to myself, but I'm trying.
Merry Christmas and write soon,
Sarah
The Repairer
When a light dims, one must call out to the Repairer. He is the one who can make us bright again; so you must always try your best to get his attention. He’s an excellent listener, some might say the best. So, if all you can muster is a whisper, he will hear it and come straight away. He’s astute and very kind. Whatever you need, he will repair. Even if your light goes out, or you can’t find the words, do not worry. You can reach him with your thoughts and he will find you.
Live.
Crayons have felt significant for as long as I can remember. As a kid, the sheer delight of getting the 64-count box with the sharpener or going to a restaurant that encouraged coloring on the paper tablecloth was equal to winning the lottery. And to be honest, not much has changed; though winning the lottery would be nice.
Do you ever think about the journey of a crayon? A crayon can come in a paper pack of 3, or a box of 32, even a tub of 240! Some are popular, others barely get noticed. They get sharpened, broken; their labels torn. It sounds exhausting. But what if it’s the opposite? What if a crayon’s life is considered well-lived when it’s been worn down to a little nub. They’ve made the world more colorful; been a comfort on hard days; perhaps some have been the communicators of sadness. What a privilege to be the picked crayon(s) for someone needing to express themselves. When there are no words, draw. When anxiety creeps up, color. Crayons are approachable. No manual required. They make anything possible. An elephant wearing a top hat and surfing? No problem! Pink storm clouds that rain grapes— Why not? They are the cultivators of imagination and the keepers of emotion. We hold onto a crayon with intention. If crayons could talk, the stories they could tell. And isn’t it sad to think about the ones that don’t get used but once or twice. Though they may be comfortable and safe from harm, they miss out on great adventures and absurdities. Crayons are simple and yet they can draw the entire world. I think that bluetiful. So be a good steward and use every color. Let the crayons live!