Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—Magical Moments of Self Love

I have a new friend. She's one of those friends that I have known all my life; in fact, I'm fairly certain she is actually my dear soul sister friend from Connecticut who has secretly moved here to Minneapolis, changed her hair color, height, and life story. "Nance? Is that you?" I want to ask this new friend, to whom I relate on a cellular,  preverbal level, whose ebb and flow is the mirror tide of mine, whose wild locky hair so deeply understands my own.

One of the reasons I am so enamored of this new friend is because she out of the blue drops things like the following into most of her emails: "hows your week going? any magical moments of self-love?"  Of course, I speak this language. I know what she means. I know she is referring to the same dying war against old ancient renditions of myself that no longer serve me... or you... or anyone for that matter. I know she is really talking about having the courage to mindfully tune into what we love about ourselves and allow it. Allow ourselves to be surprised and delighted at the miracle of our own voice as it reads Dr Seuss to our little ones before bed, how the words, the rhythm and vibration and rhyme have the ability to actually massage our innermost deepest wounds.  I know she is really asking if I have allowed myself to be my own seer... to truly see me the way I've always hungered to be seen. For isn't that love, really? To see and be seen?  

Okay, maybe that's not exactly what she was asking, but I think she'd be willing to go with that interpretation. But, really, isn't that a mindset we could all stand to integrate?



A hundred years ago when I lived in Seattle, Nance and I sat across from each other at the Greenlake Starbucks on worn green leather couches at least one evening per week. We just sat there. Sometimes we wrote, sometimes we talked, but sometimes we just sat. Oh, I'm sure we talked about men troubles and being a writer troubles and how many calories in a muffin troubles, but it was our commitment to being together to "do whatever" at Starbucks that we were after. When I was really down, truly distraught, I was a manic whirlwind... I "had to"  get up and do the dishes and run around the lake and put away clothes and write a list, or else... or else... "Or else what, Roxy?" Nance would say, now sitting steadily across from me on my couch. "There's nowhere to go, Roxy."   And so we sat.

 (She was wise beyond her years( (we were only 28).

Do we still do this? With screen time and places to go and people and stuff to Twitter, do we still do this? Do we still just sit with one another to feel the feel of company, specifically their company? A few weeks ago one of my students with whom I have been working on their incredibly page-turning, soul-wrenching, yet somehow also humorous-at- times childhood memoir asked me if I thought people came to write with me as much for the nurturing as for the writing, to which I replied absolutely and good for them. And good for you. And don't we all do that, really? Most of all, don't we seek good bedside manner behind every encounter we have?  Would my wonderful writing family keep coming to the Beach and sitting around my table if I made them do writer's jumping jacks and treated them like the dictators at Iowa?

I'm not sure where or how these stories mesh or what prompt they inspire, but any way you care to respond would be most welcome (Here at the Beach we call this a "RESPONSE WRITE.")

Failing any response other than "Rox has gone over the edge", you could write about "Places/People Where or With Whom You Have Sat," and go from there. That oughta be a goldmine actually.

Hope to SIT and write with you soon, Rox