I Want You to be Free

What would you say if you weren’t afraid?

I’ve been pondering this question for the last month, ever since a writer friend asked it of me.

“I always know when I’m reading your words,” she intoned over the phone. “There’s a certain restraint to them. I just wonder what you’d write if you weren’t afraid.”

“Oh I’m not afraid,” I scoffed, trying (and failing) not to take offense at the question.

“It’s just important to me that I communicate as carefully as possible.

“I just take seriously the responsibility that comes with my ability to speak to a diverse audience.

“I just want people to understand where I’m coming from, and to know that I attempt to understand them too.”

I batted back with a few more excuses, but by the time we hung up I’d started to soften to the truth in her words. I’d been feeling an internal sense of frustration with my writing over the last few years, aware that I wanted something to shift but unsure what or why. I had not yet recognized that this frustration was fueled by resistance against my own self-imposed restraint.

Later that evening, I pulled out the Moleskin journal in which I attempt to organize my life (XXL, soft cover, square ruling, for those who are curious) and let myself imagine all the topics I would cover if I felt free.

If I could write whatever came to mind, I would describe for you each dress in my closet: My favorite is mustard yellow with turquoise and mauve flowers, a drop waist and loose sleeves and a shoddy patch over the hole where my friend’s dog greeted me a bit too enthusiastically. Another is cream with thin navy stripes and buttons straight down the front. A third is olive green with tan flower buds and a similar cut to the first. My blue chambray dress from Costco is worn too thin to wear again; I’m currently on the hunt for its replacement.

I would explain to you that I plan my weekly outfits such that I have a different dress to wear each time I drive to the medical offices at Brier Creek. The ladies at the UNC Fertility reception desk compliment every one, but I’m not fishing for their praise. I just want to avoid the scratches of yet another paper gown and to feel a little bit more comfortable each time I nestle my feet into stirrups and slide my hips down.