+++ title = “11” date = 2018 +++
While my writing frequency has ebbed and flowed over the years, I’ve consistently written and published pieces since the early 2000’s. I did this despite my education in grade school writing, not because of my education. In school, we were taught that the writing process was a process of brainstorming (whatever that means), organizing thoughts, writing drafts, and editing the drafts.
Over the years, I’ve noticed that my own process is much different from the one that I have taught.
+++ title = “11” date = 2018 +++
Giving in is to succumb to internal desire or fear. You might give in to your kid’s demands for waffles for dinner because you’re fearful that he might have a tantrum. Or you might give in to the desire to eat an entire chocolate cake at 2am on a Tuesday. Giving in means you’ve surrendered to your reptilian brain in some way. It’s hard to control giving in.
I don’t always have dreams that I remember. When I do, I mark them down in a dream journal I keep in an app called Day One. This is also where I keep a regular journal which is sort of a log of my life.
What’s nice about Day One is that you can line these journals up and see where your dream events and life events intersect.
I did this recently and I noticed that I usually have dreams I remember during really heavy times in my life, whether it’s work or personal.
For most of my life, I’ve been told that I’m too sensitive.
I’ve been called too sensitive when I’ve cried over something that someone else deemed not cry-worthy. I’ve been too sensitive when I withdraw from conversation if somebody is ribbing me too hard. Too sensitive if I’m offended by something that was “meant as a harmless joke.”
I remember when I was a kid, asking my mom about this. About why I seemed to react differently than other people to teasing, or to any hint of aggression.
I was invited to a dinner recently at a friend’s house and I didn’t really know anyone. I started talking about the child I was expecting at the time (who arrived in August) and the person I was talking to interrupted me and asked:
“So, what religion will your child be if you and your wife aren’t from the same one?”
It took me by surprise, not because I hadn’t ever thought about it, but because my child hadn’t even been born yet.