Bring on the Starlight

This is likely to be a rambly post, but I feel like I need to work some things out and figure out my perspective on things.

Words are important to me; I write for a living. Not fun stuff (at least, not usually), but nonetheless, I write. And since I was three, I have been an avid reader. Books were my first—and sometimes truest—friends. Words opened up worlds to me, providing solace, inspiration, and wisdom.

Words are how we express, how we communicate, and (hopefully) how we find common ground.

Words have power. They can uplift or destroy.

I understand on an emotional level that certain words are so charged, so volatile as to be rendered unacceptable.

Part of me wonders why we punish the word itself.

I mean, it's not the word itself, but what it signifies, right? And delivery? That's EVERYTHING. Shouldn't we take some responsibility, too? Certainly, the speaker needs to be aware of the audience, be it one or one thousand.

I know if one of my beloved girls calls me "hooker" or "bitch," it's meant with affection. Coming from someone I dislike? Oh yeah, that's an elbow-to-the-trachea moment.

So clearly it's not the words.

Yes, we should choose our words carefully, but what if as people, as a society we learned to listen with more than our ears? Intent and meaning should count for so much more. After all, the phrase "walk your talk" is one the central tenets to my life.

It's not like I have a burning urge to use forbidden words; that passed when I was 13 or 14. I just see the occasional heated debate or emotionally charged post on my FList and these sort of musings brew in my brain.

I love words. In many ways, they're my life.

But really, isn't what they signify more important?

This is likely to be a rambly post, but I feel like I need to work some things out and figure out my perspective on things.

Words are important to me; I write for a living. Not fun stuff (at least, not usually), but nonetheless, I write. And since I was three, I have been an avid reader. Books were my first—and sometimes truest—friends. Words opened up worlds to me, providing solace, inspiration, and wisdom.

Words are how we express, how we communicate, and (hopefully) how we find common ground.

Words have power. They can uplift or destroy.

I understand on an emotional level that certain words are so charged, so volatile as to be rendered unacceptable.

Part of me wonders why we punish the word itself.

I mean, it's not the word itself, but what it signifies, right? And delivery? That's EVERYTHING. Shouldn't we take some responsibility, too? Certainly, the speaker needs to be aware of the audience, be it one or one thousand.

I know if one of my beloved girls calls me "hooker" or "bitch," it's meant with affection. Coming from someone I dislike? Oh yeah, that's an elbow-to-the-trachea moment.

So clearly it's not the words.

Yes, we should choose our words carefully, but what if as people, as a society we learned to listen with more than our ears? Intent and meaning should count for so much more. After all, the phrase "walk your talk" is one the central tenets to my life.

It's not like I have a burning urge to use forbidden words; that passed when I was 13 or 14. I just see the occasional heated debate or emotionally charged post on my FList and these sort of musings brew in my brain.

I love words. In many ways, they're my life.

But really, isn't what they signify more important?

I have been debating this for weeks and months. I feel like I have stuff to say about the whole cancer thing. It's like I'm in this weird no man's land because I did have it relatively easy, but it was still cancer. I'm still learning to cope, and almost all the resources I see are targeted at folks who had more serious forms. But there are emotions and stresses and sometimes I feel utterly unequal to the coping. It's too easy to diminish my experience because I was mostly functional, but I still had cancer. I can't be the only one experiencing a weird cocktail of feeling marginalized, blessed, terrified, surprised, loved, and thankful.

I haven't written since I started writing training material for a living. It seems too much like work. My life circumstances don't necessarily allow for cultivation of plot bunnies. I haven't felt the need to write (beyond my occasional blatherings here) in years and years. But this? My story stirs in me.


[Poll #1490449]

I have been debating this for weeks and months. I feel like I have stuff to say about the whole cancer thing. It's like I'm in this weird no man's land because I did have it relatively easy, but it was still cancer. I'm still learning to cope, and almost all the resources I see are targeted at folks who had more serious forms. But there are emotions and stresses and sometimes I feel utterly unequal to the coping. It's too easy to diminish my experience because I was mostly functional, but I still had cancer. I can't be the only one experiencing a weird cocktail of feeling marginalized, blessed, terrified, surprised, loved, and thankful.

I haven't written since I started writing training material for a living. It seems too much like work. My life circumstances don't necessarily allow for cultivation of plot bunnies. I haven't felt the need to write (beyond my occasional blatherings here) in years and years. But this? My story stirs in me.


[Poll #1490449]