The Cherries and the Pie

My writing teacher used to say that if you can't think of anything to write about, to write about the fact that you don't have anything to write about.

Maybe the reason for this blankness is that I am doubting myself these days. (Yeah right, "these days", when do I not doubt myself?) Okay then, I'm having different doubts than usual! Great a new one! I am doubting that I will get to do everything I want to do before I die. I am doubting the image I have of myself in my head. I am doubting my urge to keep trying to do new things.

Then an image pops into my head, well two images, one from the past and one from the present. The one from the past is of a little boy from my home town, who was bullied very day as a kid. I only learned of this recently. It turns out that my own sister was bullied by the same person and I never knew. It makes me sad for them and everyone who is bullied, the fear, anxiety and pain they were subject to. How small and vulnerable they must have felt.

The other image is of my nieces, nephews and my own children dancing in sequence in my house this evening, smiling and laughing. And doing the routine quite well. I felt privileged to be a part of this scene and was drawn in even more because of the imprint in my mind of the image of the skinny little red head who was been bullied every day, perhaps as I passed him by.

I vowed to be more conscious of all the children around me and to fill each exchange with more vigilance, more care and of course, my favourite, more love.

In the end, what does it matter what I do or don't do, how I look or don't look to myself or others, what I write or don't write? They are only the cherries on the pie. The pie is awareness and love.