Yesterday Was A Closed Book, Tomorrow, However,

There’s Something Completely Unnerving About Seeing Your Parents Upset. I Suppose It’s Because They’re Supposed To Be The Strong Ones, But That’s Not Just It. Ever Since People Are Kids They Use Their Parents As Some Sort Of Measurement For How Bad A Situation Is. When You Fall On The Ground Really Hard And You Can’t Figure Out Whether It Hurts Or Not You Look To Your Parents. If They Look Worried And Rush Toward You, You Cry. If They Laugh And Smack The Ground Saying “bold Ground,” Then You Pick Yourself Up And Get On With It.

Journalism Classes Teach Us That One Must Extract Oneself From The Story In Order To Report Without Bias, But Often We Need To Be In The Story In Order To Understand, To Connect, To Help The Audience Identify Or Else It Has No Heart; It Could Be A Robot Telling The Story, For All Anyone Cares.

We Have A Tendency To Put Ourselves Last, We Concentrate On Everything Else; Work, Friends, Family, Home Issues, But We Ignore The Deeper Stuff Until It Becomes So Compressed That It Can Explode.

But Where Pain Was, Healing Could Come; Where Loneliness Was, New Relationships Could Be Formed; Where Rejection Was, New Love Could Be Found. It Was A Moment. And Moments Changed. She Would Have To Live Through The Moment To Get To The Next.

She Didn't Feel Thirty. But Then Again Again, What Was Being Thirty Supposed To Feel Like? When She Was Younger, Thirty Seemed So Far Away, She Thought That A Woman Of That Age Would Be So Wise And Knowledgeable, So Settled In Her Life With A Husband And Children And A Career. She Had None Of Those Things. She Still Felt As Clueless As She Had Felt When She Was Twenty, Only With A Few More Gray Hairs And Crow's Feet Around Her Eyes.