Just Write #224 ~ Heartbreaking truths

Among the greatest surprises of my adult life is that I would take my daughter’s breakups as hard (maybe harder) than they do. I could not be more surprised by this as I’m a person who, as a rule, does not get attached. There are few people in my life I can’t/haven’t/wouldn’t walk away from and be just fine.

I have always considered that a point of pride (I’m an independent woman…yeah, b****), but I’m learning now that it’s actually an attachment disorder. Um…I guess. Probably?

I don’t recall ever being all that upset about any of my own breakups over the years, with the exception of the first “real” boyfriend. That one hurt for years. But, I’m sitting here trying to even remember his last name right now. So….I mean…there you go. Proof that time heals all wounds. And, apparently, it steals your memory too, so it all kinda works out in the end.

But…yeah, it takes time.

In talking with a running girlfriend about it the other day, I said:  “You know, all it’s going to take for her to forget he exists is another person to show interest.”

“See, but, that makes me so sad,” she said. “Why does she need anyone to like her, you know? She’s amazing and funny and smart and so cute. Why does she need a boyfriend?”

“Right? And, frankly, I can think of a hundred things more worthy of that time and energy for her.”

But my running girlfriend and I are old enough to know that now. To know that the great American Dream we are sold (big house, nice car, in-ground pool), the fulfillment to be found in a soulmate, and the absolute joy and sense of purpose to be found in parenting is mostly another fantastical fabrication of our culture. Say it enough and people start to think it’s true, even if it’s absurd and makes no sense  and everyone knows it’s false (Trump 101).

There may be people who find all that in a spouse and kids and a McMansion in the ‘burbs, but it’s my experience that most middle age women are in some form of hell of their own making. Because it’s what is expected of us.

College degree. Car. Spouse. House. Career. Kids.

It’s a constant treadmill of accomplishments and acquisitions. Check. Next step. Check. Next step. Check. We’re so busy (busy, busy, busy) moving forward that we never stop (who has time?!) to think about where we are going or why or if it’s anything we actually even want. We just know that’s what we should want/do/be.

I love my husband, my kids, my home, my job…and yet, I can acknowledge that all of these things also drain the life out of me. They are a ton of work.

I tell my girls a lot: Think carefully about marriage and kids and if that’s something you really want because what it comes with is an entire lifetime of work. You will be taking care of others until the day you die. It never ends.

When you think about it, marriage is not a great deal for women who, today, can mostly provide for themselves. The husband gets someone to take care of them, bear and raise the children, bring in half the household income, keep track of everything, do the shopping, clean the house, have sex with, and cook them food. The wife gets um, let’s see….*checks notes*….financial security and his love. Maybe. As long as she doesn’t get fat. Or old. Or turn bitter and angry. Or let herself go.

I mean….have we really thought this through, ladies?

I suppose it’s just that kind of thinking that is scaring the ever-loving shit out of the far right/conservatives who are working every day—every damn day—to control women and silence anyone and anything that threatens the status quo. They have a lot to lose if we stop living for the attention and approval of men.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write #220 ~ Eye opening shower

There are probably a dozen showers in the locker room at the Y, but only one has the “rain shower” head and it’s the best one. The weird thing is that nobody seems to know. Rarely is anyone ever in that shower. But, lately I’ve been clashing with another woman who also claims it as her own.

It used to work out fine because she would be done before I got out of the pool, but I’ve been getting to the pool earlier to claim a lane in the sweet spot between the crazy-early-5:30 a.m.-folks (mostly men) and the 6:30 a.m.-gotta-be-to-work-at-8 crew (mostly women).

Early mornings at the Y tend to have a surprising amount of older adults/retirees. I don’t know why. But as a working woman who just needs to get her damn workout in and get to freaking work on time, yep, I get annoyed with them a lot.

Enter the retired woman who has an affinity for the same shower that I do.

She hangs her bag on the hook right outside that shower. So do I. I’ve moved her bag to the next hook over when I get to the shower first. She’s moved mine when she gets there first.

So last week, I get out of the pool and as I go into the shower room, I see her sitting in the whirlpool. Dibs on the good shower then, right?  I’m getting my towel out of my bag to hang it up when she comes rushing in and — I swear to God — jumps right into that stall.

I’m like….seriously?

So, I grab my bag and I move to another shower and I’m pissed.

I’m in there just counting all the reasons I hate that woman: A.) You have no job, you can come anytime during the day. B.) You could’ve sat in that whirlpool and enjoyed it for five minutes and I’d have been done, C.) Typical spoiled baby boomer behavior.

I’m thinking: Whatever, woman, I’m Gen X….it’s fine. We’re used to just being happy with whatever shit is leftover from the damn Boomers who feel entitled to the best of everything all of the time. So…fine….I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is FINE.

Hey, I’m not proud of those thoughts, but it’s 7 a.m. and SHE TOOK MY SHOWER.

But, as I spin out and hate on all the Baby Boomers and feel sorry for myself and all of Generation X, I realize that I also like the shower I’m currently in.

Huh.

In fact, I think it’s warmer. And there are two hooks that are closer to the stall.  And it’s easier to shave my legs because I can scooch out of the stream of water, which I cannot do in the stall with the big, fat rain shower head.

I like this shower, too. So, now I won. I have not just one favorite shower, but two. I’m adaptable. I’m flexible. I really am fine. I’m not the least bit bothered by this woman — so stuck in her ways and routines — anymore.

And if there’s one thing my generation is good at, it’s making the best of what we have….or detaching so that we don’t really care about anything too much anyway.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Why I left Facebook

There are a lot of reasons I suspended my FB account a week or so ago. It goes way back to the 2016 election and the Russian trolls/bots that stole it by manipulating people and flooding the platform with false stories designed to sow division. It continues all the way to 2020 with the continuation of disinformation and the Capitol riots, which were largely organized (at least initially) on Facebook’s platforms.

But, ultimately, it comes down to this: I’m tired of the constant negativity and there are a limited number of people I want to share my real feeling and details of my life with.

And, yeah…I see the irony of posting about why I left FB and whining about not wanting to share my life with the world while I write a public blog. But only the ones who really care (love or hate me) will bother to follow me here. My own husband doesn’t read this, so I am under no illusion that I have a large audience and I don’t care. I’ve never once looked at my stats. It doesn’t matter to me.

I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay away from Facebook. I had to create a second — professional — account for work because posting on FB is literally part of my job at the college, but I started anew — I have one “friend” — a coworker who had to made me an admin on our page. I follow only college-related sites/pages.

I’ve learned a few things in the last week or so:

• Deactivating your account, does not effect Messenger, so you can still chat and private message all your friends.
• I’m insanely productive without FB in my life. I caught up on all my work and I think I wrote five stories in three days last week.
• I’m exponentially happier. I have no idea what’s going on in the world (other than looking at Washington Post and reading the Erie Times-News) and I don’t care. It feels great to not be immersed in news and provoked/angered by so. many. things. I feel great…really, really great. Happy, even.
• I’m going to miss stuff. No doubt, I’ll miss things that are going on but I figure if it’s big enough, I’ll hear about it. Someone will text me and the friends I see in person will keep me in the loop.
• I do miss seeing all the photos. I do have Instagram, but….people don’t post there as often. That’s good and bad, I guess.
• I have a lot more free time. I’ve filled it with writing, reading, catching up on random projects. Again….crazy productive these days.
• I’m not sure how I’ll handle freelance assignments when I need to crowd-source or when I need advice or recommendations on something. I can see me popping back up on FB here & there. It’s easy to active and/or deactivate.
• I don’t think I can leave it activated and just ignore it. I’ll end up scrolling that feed ….it’s like a drug. Thank god I never got/understood Twitter. One less habit to kick.

So, for now, I’m MIA on FB, and I’m loving it.  You can find me on Insta, but only if you’re not going to bring me down. (Get off of a my cloud). 

On Canadian geese and fuzzy feelings

There’s a large cemetery a few miles from my house that has two big ponds with a picturesque waterfall between them. The water is bordered by woods on the back side and a wide, expansive, well-manicured lawn on the the other two sides.

The lawn and ponds attract Canadian geese, who find the cemetery to be the perfect place to live (ironic, right?).

There are more ponds and lawns across the street at a neighboring funeral home and “memorial” garden. They are forever crossing the road between the two spaces and they don’t fly. They waddle…slowly.

And you know drivers these days — they are mostly distracted and impatient. Also, they are usually running late, stressed out, and quick to anger. (‘Merica…land of the free, aggravated and self-important.)

In spring, the geese are often crossing the road with a dozen or more little goslings between them. A couple of years ago, when my morning run route was to the cemetery and back, I was forever stopping traffic to play Goose Crossing Guard, trying to hurry the birds across the road all while being honked and hissed at by the biggest, bravest goose in the bunch.

I never took offense. They’re just protecting their babies.

Every year, there are a few geese who don’t make it across the road. I see them as I drive past. They are usually belly-up with their wings splayed at odd angles and blowing in breeze created by passing cars.

It always breaks my heart to see a dead goose.

You may think: “What’s one goose? There are a million of them.” And there are, literally. In fact, there are estimated to be more than 5 million Canadian Geese in the U.S.  Golf courses and airports consider them a nuisance animal.

But Canadian Geese mate for life. So that goose mattered to another bird who, no doubt, mourned its death. I’ve seen the sad, honking display of the living mate circling their dead partner. It’s a scene that’s hard to get out of your head.

This time of year, you’ll often see a single pair of geese or a couple pairs of geese watching over a two dozen or more goslings. They are not especially prolific geese, but taking their turn on nursery duty.  These “gang broods” are made up of several broods, that travel, feed, and lounge around together, sharing the work of raising the young.

Children can be exhausting, you know.

Some other interesting facts about Canadian geese from the Cornell Lab or Ornithology:

• Canada Geese are particularly drawn to lawns for two reasons: they can digest grass, and when they are feeding with their young, manicured lawns give them a wide, unobstructed view of any approaching predators.
• In summer, they primarily feed on grasses. In the fall and winter, they rely on berries and seeds.
• They mate for life with very low “divorce rates,” and pairs remain together throughout the year.
• Geese mate “assortatively,” larger birds choosing larger mates and smaller ones choosing smaller mates; in a given pair, the male is usually larger than the female.
• Most Canada Geese do not breed until their fourth year; less than 10 percent breed as yearlings, and most pair bonds are unstable until birds are at least two or three years old.
• They have one brood each year. Average size of a clutch is 2-8.
• Hatchlings are born with their eyes are open and leave the nest in just a day or two, depending on weather, and can walk, swim, feed, and even dive.
• Young birds remain with their parents for their entire first year.
• As summer wanes birds become more social; they may gather in large numbers at food sources; where food is limited, they may compete with displays and fights.
• In winter, Geese can remain in northern areas with some open water and food resources even where temperatures are extremely cold.
• An estimated 2.6 million Canada Geese are harvested by hunters in North America, but this does not seem to affect its numbers.

 

I look forward to the goslings each spring and routinely drive by the cemetery in May in hopes of catching a glimpse of the first hatchlings. When the little fuzzy ones appear, no matter where I’m going or how late I am, I pull over and watch them for a while.

They grow up fast. By July, you can’t tell the goslings from the geese.

 

Dad’s eulogy (to Hell with 2017)

This year can kiss my ass. Not only has it been a political nightmare for this country, but my herniated disc from Hell returned to torment me…and, also, my dad died this week.

He had been sick for quite some time and on dialysis for two years now, I think. Kidney failure was just one of a myriad of health issues for my father. Diabetes, depression, spinal stenosis….

On December 12, my parent’s wedding anniversary, the doctor told my mother it was time to stop dialysis as it was causing him too much pain and any meds to control that pain were immediately washed out of his body by the dialysis process.

That day was pretty surreal, with all us siblings and my mom gathered in the hall outside of his room at St. Mary’s East where he was recovering from another toe amputation, discussing his funeral while Dad watched Ellen on TV and dozed off every 20 minutes or so.

Did he know? Yes and no. He’d been told a couple of times, but he’d forget (dementia was setting in). At first, that really bothered me, but then I realized it was better that way. It’s what we’d have chosen if we could.

Truth be told: Mom and we kids kept a lot of information from Dad over the years.

I got a call at 2 a.m. on Monday, Dec. 18, that dad had died. He didn’t suffer, he didn’t end up in a days-long coma and, for that, we are all grateful.

If my Dad and I had a Facebook relationships status, it would be “it’s complicated.” Because it was.  But, then, name a familial relationship that is not, right?

Being “the writer” and the one most likely to keep it together through eulogy, my mother asked me to say some words at the funeral. I wasn’t going to do it, but then I couldn’t sleep and the words were coming to me, so I just got up and typed them.

Then I stepped out of my comfort zone (behind a keyboard) and stood behind my father’s casket in front of the church altar where I got married and baptized both of my daughters, and read those words.

I made it through most of it without crying. It’s when I think about my siblings that I get weepy because I’m so grateful to have them and to have them here in Erie, even if most of them are Republicans.

Anyway…I thought the eulogy turned out to be pretty decent and thought that if you care enough to read the drivel I write here (I promise to do better in 2018), maybe you’d want to read it:

Hi, I’m Heather. For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Joe’s daughter, the second daughter, child number 4 of 5. I’m “the writer,” and so, was asked to write a few words about my dad.

To be honest, I wasn’t going to because, by nature, we writers are introverts. I don’t share a lot with people unless there’s a keyboard and paper or a screen between us and 65,0000 circulation.

Also, I hate to cry. When you grow up with four siblings, you learn not to cry because that brings mom into the picture, and then you’re all in big trouble.

But, it’s really hard to say no to my mother, you know.

Like any professional writer, I procrastinated until the last possible moment. At 6 a.m. this morning, I Googled “how to write a eulogy.”

The templates I found were full of trite phrases and platitudes that I could not physically type without retching and none of them fit my father.

He’s a hard man to label. He was and could sometimes be in one day or one hour, two very different things. For most of my teen and young adult years, I faulted him for that. But, then I grew up and realized how complicated life and people are and that we’re all that way.

We are all a bundle of contradictions and incongruencies shaped by our personal experiences. We are who we are. And, my father was who he was:

He was gregarious and kind to strangers. The kind of guy who could strike up a conversation with anyone anywhere. He was also the guy who would very loudly and with a few gestures, tell you to “slow the hell down” if you were driving too fast past his house.

He was hunter in his younger days, especially duck and deer, but he was also an animal lover. I think all of my siblings and I can agree that my father’s favorite child was really his husky, Lakota. Lakota was actually my brother’s dog, but was far too attached to my dad to leave when Patrick did. I wish that dog had lived another 10 years because he took a big piece of my father with him when he left.

He was a master jury rigger. Zip ties, duct tape, glue, and swear words were my father’s favorite tools. It’s true, mom: I get my foul mouth from dad.

He was a man who never changed a diaper, but he raised five children. He didn’t have to sign on for that when he met my mother, a divorcee with three young children, but I’m 100% certain that he’s glad he did. Joe, Pam and Rich were as much his kids as Pat and I. In fact, I never even remember that my older siblings are half-siblings until someone comments on our different last names or tells me I don’t look like them. While it was annoying to grow up with so many siblings and one bathroom, one tv, one phone and never enough of anything, there was always enough of what we needed. I’ve never been more grateful to have a large family than I have in the last year. I’m so thankful for all my siblings, even if we can never, ever, ever talk politics.

He was a car enthusiast, with his second favorite baby — after the dog — being his 1964 Chevelle. And, really any other car in his possession — they were all treated to frequent cleanings as were any of our cars if we happened to show up while dad was washing cars.

He was a Navy sailor, who didn’t care much for water. We had a big backyard when I was growing up and I was an avid swimmer who frequently begged for a pool. Dad would never put one in — too much work, he’d say. But when Dan and I put in a pool, dad would come over and swim with the kids on the hottest summer days. I refrained from saying: I told you so.

I could go on and on, but a writer knows that conciseness is as important as word choice and grammar. Readers won’t stay with you for long.

That’s true for the ones we love, too. We all know this, and yet, we live like we don’t. It’s better that way though. Endings are hard — in writing and in life.

We’ll miss you, dad.

I’ve always hated rules (Laurenism, too)

I’m sure you’ve seen those “rules for dating my daughter” memes like the one above and heard all the country songs about overprotective daddies waiting on the porch with shotguns. Perhaps you laughed or sang along…maybe you even thought those super-creepy purity balls where girls pledge to remain virgins were innocent daddy-and-daughter fun.

But, this kind of possessive patriarchal behavior and attitude has always struck the wrong chord with me.

Here’s why: my daughters are not the property of any man, including their father. It’s wrong to treat them like possessions and it’s just freaking sad to assume that they are a couple of silly little dumb bunnies who can’t decide what they will and will not tolerate from a partner.

I raised my daughters to be stronger, smarter, and more independent than that. They are not princesses to be doted on, guarded, and protected with threats of deadly force.

So I was happy to see this dad’s “updated rules for dating my daughter” making the rounds on social media last week: 

Yes! Yes! Yes! J. Warren Welch gets it.

I think Lauren does, too.

On a drive home from swim practice last week, she ticked off her top 6 requirements in a boyfriend/mate. They are (and I quote):

1. He must like and be able to make macaroni-and-cheese.
2. He must like and play video games.
3. He must be able to change a tire.
4. He must share her political views. In her words, “I’m not putting up with any Republicans.”
5. He must have a job. In her words, “I’m not supporting any lazy man.”
6. He must not ever judge me.

I was pretty impressed with her list of rules. I mean, she covered the bases, right? Food, shelter, fun, politics, and respect—proving my point that my girls can handle themselves.

Dan doesn’t need to protect our daughters with a shotgun because we’ve spent the last 14 to 16 years arming them with better weapons, like confidence, a strong sense of self, critical thinking skills, autonomy, and self-sufficiency.

P.S. For you moms of boys….you’ll probably enjoy this hilarious—but honest—reply to those “rules”  from a mother of boys.  I think she’s my spirit mom. We could totally be BFFs.

 

Just Write 151 ~ Peace of Nature

The old stone pool outside my office window hasn’t been opened in two years now. But the black tarp that covers it offers a series of shallow leaf-littered pools that the local wildlife love. Especially frogs and toads, judging by the loud and ceaseless chorus of croaking and splashing that provide the summer soundtrack to my work day. The amphibians are joined by chittering chipmunks and about 100,000 birds that would put Adele to shame.

I’m not complaining. Far from it. I welcome these sounds of nature that draw my attention away from the day’s news.

Every day there’s a new scandal out of the White House, some other egregious thing our “president” or a member of his family or inner circle has said or done, some important ally he has offended, some brutal dictator he has embraced, some accomplished professional woman he ogled and thereby reduced down to a piece of pretty flesh.

It’s hard to keep up.  Or, rather, it’s depressing and discouraging and heart-breaking to keep up. If I read, listen, take in too much, I want to cover my ears and rock in a corner until 2020 (provided this national nightmare actually lasts that long). It all stresses me out and I’ve got the extra pounds and a new TMJ night guard to prove it.

So I’m finding it increasingly important to unplug, turn away, disengage, and find peace somewhere.

I can always find it outdoors, preferably in or near woods. I find myself absolutely craving it these days (as in I need to get OUT of here and away from all this s#$@).

I can breathe there. With the trees and the skittering chipmunks and buzzing insects and the rustling leaves. Things make sense in the woods. Nature makes sense.

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Nature is not trying to game the system. Nature is unconcerned with politics, power or money. There are no mind games in the woods. No party affiliations. No confounding beliefs that don’t jive with actions. No B.S.  No judgement. No religion.  Just the tangible and observable reality of what actually is. Nature is just doing it’s thing. Day after day after day.

It’s my safe space in a world that seems to have lost it’s f@#$ing way mind.

“It’s not that we don’t care, we just know that the fight ain’t fair.”

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

“What ends up revealing itself when free writing is that everything has meaning. That is a magnificent gift of writing. If we write from a free heart-gut place, our souls start speaking.”

Just Write 146 ~ Strong women

Just 14 and a freshman in high school, our niece, a star defensive player on the school’s high school varsity soccer team, was playing in the District 10 playoff game Saturday night at Edinboro University.

We happily bundled up and joined the dozen other friends and family members who had come to cheer on the Bobcats. With just one loss the entire season, they deserved to be there.  So did the other team.

My brother was an avid soccer player when I was growing up. Suffice to say, I’ve been to a lot of soccer games, and I’ve seen plenty of dirty players, a lot of red cards, a ton of thrown elbows and deliberate knee hits.

I did not see that on Sunday. From my vantage point, I saw two very talented teams full of strong, athletic young women who played aggressively and passionately, but with respect for one another.

However, behind us, were several rows of “fans” from the other team. Mostly young men. Mostly un-athletic looking young men. The kind of guys who can’t actually do, but feel free to judge and criticize those who do.

They were loud and obnoxious, and immediately irritated the family and friends of the Bobcats players around them.

They cheered when our girls missed. They insulted our players, commenting on their bodies. They wanted a red card, a foul, a corner throw on every single play that didn’t go their way. They questioned the size of the nets and the age of our girls. They loudly bragged about going home to shoot guns that Hillary didn’t want them to have (I’m not really sure what prompted that comment…because if they knew the first thing about Bobcat country, they’d know it’s rife with proud card-carrying members of the NRA).

We tried to ignore them. I repeated whispered to my girls: “When they go low, we go high. Ignore them.”

But, at one point, a particularly nasty comment forced me to turn around and look several of them directly the in the eye. I didn’t say a word. Of course, the cowards looked away; they always do.

At half time, they moved.

Later that night, I found myself thinking about those boys and where their parents went wrong. How do you raise sons who are that disrespectful? Would their mothers have put an end to that behavior? Would any of them have been that way alone, or was it pack mentality? Did they not realize that the young girls they were criticizing were our daughters, nieces, cousins, and granddaughters? That they were surrounded by people who love and cherish these women?

But, then, how we can we blame them for mirroring behavior that they are seeing demonstrated by a candidate for the highest political office in our country (and many men in positions of power)?

He belittles. He shouts. He loudly and brazenly spreads lies. He openly makes comments about women’s bodies. He cries that things are “rigged” if they are not going his way. He attracts followers who have no courage to do what they know is right.

Maybe they think this is normal.  Maybe they think this is OK. Maybe they think this is how it is now.

But, on that field, those young women—on both sides—gave me hope.  They played with heart, and strength, and talent, and power, and grace. And, when it was done, they shook hands and congratulated each other on a game well played.

They were leaders.

And today, my friends, for the sake of this country and for Democracy and for common decency, may we elect them because we are stronger together.

 

 

 

Just Write 141 ~ Using gifts for good

 

 

 

 

 

They had been toiling for weeks in the hazy humidity of an Erie summer, transforming the steep, wild, overgrown area near the creek and wooden footbridge into something more than a tangled mess of vegetation.

You already know that I’m a big fan of wild spaces, and I’ll admit that, at first, I was a little disappointed to see them turn the natural area lining Trout Run into a “blank canvas” of soil.

Before

But, then, they started planting and the bank beds began to take shape. The flowers began to bloom and the footbridge, once hidden by the weeds around it, now stood out. It’s sure to see more traffic when students return to campus later this month. They’ll probably wonder where it came from, when it had been there all along, obscured by unruly weeds and bushes.

As I was walking back to my office one afternoon, the guys working on the project were taking a break. I smiled, pointed at the bank, and told them it was looking really nice.

We chatted for a bit. They thanked me and told me what a big job it had turned out to be and what they’d chosen to plant there (native plants) and why (soil and water maintenance).

I walked away, happy that I’d take the time to compliment them because if there is one thing world needs today it’s more kind words, more understanding, more compassion, more empathy, and more appreciation for one another.

Then, I realized I could do better. I turned around, went back and told them:

“You know, I interview a lot of people—professors, alumni, students—and I ask every single one of them why they chose this college. Almost all of them mention the beauty of our campus. So, you should know that you guys have as much of an influence on admissions and recruitment as the people in the offices and classrooms here. What you do here matters and it is appreciated.”

Consider this: What if we all used our own unique gifts to make the world a better, more beautiful place?

They did it with tools, plants, creativity, and a lot of sweat.

I try to do it with words.

What can you do?

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After

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

“What ends up revealing itself when free writing is that everything has meaning. That is a magnificent gift of writing. If we write from a free heart-gut place, our souls start speaking.”

What if all the humans were gone?

When we go on long car trips, I frequently find myself staring out the window at the forests and green space along the interstate highway and wondering what the world would look like if we weren’t here.

What if humans had never paved billions of miles of roads or dammed up the rivers or built mammoth concrete cities or prevented the peninsula from becoming an island?  How long would it take nature to completely erase us?

I thought that envisioning a post-apocalyptic or (early settler’s) wild world was just some weird preoccupation of my own, but turns out…I’m not alone in my morbid curiosity.

Check out this 4-minute film and see exactly what would happen if humans disappeared today: