Tag Archives: reflection


Daily Prompt: Standout

I talked about anonymity yesterday in Pride. But in truth, there’s a dichotomy in my hopes for this space. Forget the reason behind the anonymity in the first place. The important question is do I truly want anonymity?

I don’t want any attention from the people who know me. You see, I value their opinion the most. And I haven’t yet created anything worthy of their time. Maybe in a few years, I’ll finally have a body of work, or maybe just that one masterpiece, that I’m willing to stamp my name on.

At the same time, I definitely don’t want my current work to be overlooked, forgotten, disregarded. I yearn for approval, criticism, just to be seen. I have no concerns about sharing who I am and what I create with strangers. Now, there’s a dilemma.



Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall.

If writing is your release, you can’t completely let go without anonymity. I don’t care what anyone says about honesty or transparency. Any person who cares even the slightest bit about at least one other person has a few things they feel but will never say.

Even with anonymity, I don’t think I’m there yet. I don’t know if I’ll be there in a year. Why? Pride. Even a few days in, I’m proud of some of the things I’ve written here. I’m not proud enough to think any of my work is going to become an overnight sensation. I don’t entertain any delusions of unexpected wealth (and I’m obviously trying to avoid fame). But I do want to be able to share what I’ve written with my family one day.

Knowing that will happen –knowing I’ll one day invite them in –is it possible for me to really ‘let it all out?’ If so, will I have to lie? “Oh, I embellished a bit. It just makes for a better story.” Is it selfish to even ask? Am I more concerned with hurting their feelings or that they’ll be angry and upset with me?

Must I create a cellarsubfloor? Do I need an outlet for only my deepest and darkest thoughts? What if one of those stories ends up being a masterpiece? Can I smother my pride and carry the secret to my grave?

Even now, I realize how proud I sound. How presumptuous of me to think my family and friends will care about my work –the things I think about them at their worst –at my worst.

In reality there is, perhaps no one of our natural passions so hard to subdue as pride. Disguise it, struggle with it, stifle it, mortify it as much as one pleases, it is still alive and will every now and then peep out and show itself; you will see it, perhaps, often in this history. For even if I could conceive that I had completely overcome it, I should probably be proud of my humility. – Benjamin Franklin


When my 5 month old son gets restless but doesn’t want to be held or played with, he goes in the jump-jump. It’s a spring-loaded contraption that clamps onto the top of a doorway frame with a sort of two-fingered claw. Attached to the spring is height-adjusting strap that attaches to three straps that arch out to support a plastic frame of sorts with a cloth seat.

The front of the plastic support is shaped like a tray. This is truly baffling if you’ve ever seen a child in a jump-jump. I can’t imagine a single item remaining on the tray once he gets going. And if I give him an item, he launches it across the room within seconds.

So he gets restless and we put him in the jump-jump and he jumps and he jump-jumps. He coos and oohs and ahs and hoots and chirps. He slaps his hands and slaps his feet and turns and swings and bounces and sings. He thinks about baby things…teeth coming in, boobies, big sissy, Clicky the Turtle, zerbets, and chunky feet.

Oh to jump. Oh to jump-jump. Oh to coo and ooh and ah and hoot and chirp. Oh to slap my hands and slap my feet –to turn and bounce and swing and sing. Oh to think about big boy things…teeth saying clean, boobies, mother getting older, LED TV, belches, and tired feet.