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I’ve written in a diary since I was 12, similar to Patty Smith. Only I’m not 75 or a rock and roll legend. But like Patty Smith, I’m fascinated by Jo March, as well as so many other fictional characters written by women when women were not emancipated or encouraged to publish as a woman because it was a man’s world. I loved recently reading about Olive Schreiner who wrote a future for women who didn’t have the ability to live freely in 1880.

I’ve not wanted to hide behind a pseudonym, or write fiction even though fiction sells. In my life, my reality was fascinating enough. I don’t want to hide behind gimmicks. I feel my reality teaches me something worth learning.

I didn’t pursue writing in college because of the red marks on my class papers I thought meant I couldn’t write. But I love to write. Always have. Sometimes when I read what I have written, I don’t know who wrote it.

The minute I had my first taste of freedom after graduating from the University of California, at Berkeley, I couldn’t go back. Literally, at 22, my calendar was no longer a foregone conclusion as it had been for 22 years.

It took me many years to figure the money thing out, kind of… I was delegating before I knew what minimum wage was.

But that first taste of freedom, not performing successfully at something I’d committed to previously. Not stuck with something I was no longer interested in. Finally, I went within to what was hidden when I was rushing around with my head cut off, trying frantically to please all the people, all the time.

Freedom is such a subject now.

I didn’t want to keep twisting myself up in knots to be acceptable to the masses.

I wanted to be me.

I’ve discovered if something bothers me or is problematic, sitting down to write it out, then a calm voice within tells me exactly what to do to fix it. In high school, when I was more corporate than ever after, I wrote teensy tiny prose in between the lines of my Snoopy journal. I had a blank poetry book I wrote in after I jogged two miles. Moving could get the words churning and visible behind my forehead.

Now at 62, many subjects have evolved through my years. Family Feelings. Erotic evolution. Second Mothers and so many sisters. Communicating with those I love, even after they venture beyond the veil. Intuitive Integration. My mother always said, “How did you remember that date?” I kept answering, “Because I’m a diarist!”

Now I find if I ask myself when I received a certain gift or had a certain dream, within a few days my mind directs my hands to the whereabouts of the answer to my question. It’s quite mystical and magical. I want to share these mystical and magical nuggets with my readers.

We are each given a self to develop and become. I hope my finding me will help you find you, or at least entertain you as you saunter or speed along your path.

I can’t promise you when I will write what. I opened this up as a commitment of mine to make more visible my process, to dance in my diary, and to ask if anyone wants to dance with me.

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