It's been literally years since I've had a group of writers with which to correspond, make notes, share pieces and critiques, and generally offer support in our endeavors.
It was... refreshing.
I got to tap into a section of my brain that had been lying dormant for about ten years. I miss tossing around literary jargon with like-minded folk. I miss critique and laughter and nods of understanding and people who aren't afraid to shed tears when something touches their heart.
I like the feeling of chatting with kindred spirits.
Don't we all?
Don't we long for those people who understand our current and past joys, frustrations, triumphs, and failings?
It is only in rare cases that we are able to reach out our hands and touch such people.
Lately, I have felt isolated, alone, entirely too different. It's a feeling I've struggled with ever since moving to Southern Maryland. Yesterday, I thank God that I was able to feel open, engaged, a part, invited, involved, loved, upheld, admired, beloved... breathing in clean oxygen.
Where do you connect? With whom do you feel you get to breathe?
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