We all have a certain "character or role" that we present to the world. Look over there -- outside, there's that funny woman with her walker. In the basket up front, there's her little dog who could care less about her turtle-pace. Over there, in an ancient Lincoln, the man with the long, white beard tears down the driveway like it's the Kentucky Speedway. And sitting on the bench -- I should see the quiet woman who's about to ride her bicycle to the grocery, because even at forty, she's afraid to drive.
But she's not there.
She was my friend and despite her outsides, there was an entire busy, forgotten world going on inside her mind and heart. Isn't that true with all of us? Of course it is. A few days ago, she left this earth. I was the one who discovered that she was missing, and I was the one who discovered why. A mere one hour later, I told my story and gave a talk in front of about thirty people, and they all saw me weep, telling my truth. There was no fear. None.
Here's my "outside" role -- I'm still here, still single, still writing, and my life on the outside is pretty much the same as it was in college, minus the dorm life, even after all of these years. I have few possessions, few clothes, jewelry from Claire's, and I don't care. I'd like to be able to take some trips or have a house, sure, but then I get a pumpkin, and it's all right. Sometimes I feel lost. Sometimes I feel lonely. Yeah, I think about how I'd like to have a partner with which to share my life, but I don't know if that will ever happen for me. Just the reality of it. But this feeling of want drives me to give to the world in other ways. It's a different life, and I have so much to be grateful for, but it can get kooky. Still, it's what I've created, and it's mine.
I never forget this: I have family, friends, support systems, hot water, cold water, clean water, medical care, and the ability to speak the truth. No, none of it's perfect, but it's human, real, and I have so much more than many others. I know this. So when I write, I strive to create a
world in which the characters are believable and true to their natures.
I ask myself...what would this character do here...how would he/she
react? When I'm true to the voice, the writing sings. And in turn, in my own life, when I'm true to my heart, my life sings.
I miss her, that girl with the bicycle. The bicycle is still here, chained to the rack, waiting for her. It doesn't make any sense. A lot of things don't make sense. Sitting here writing to you, I feel strong and serious. I never play games. Never have, never will. A mission for me, and for all: to tell the truth, be the truth, and to love. There is no other mission.
Today's truth: In life and in writing, be true to character, be true to heart. Take a break from your own life. Life is fleeting. Stop and spend the time to ask someone how they're doing today. Tell the truth, be the truth. Always.
C.A. MacConnell
