Day 22 - Lidia Yukanavitch and the Space Between

A long time ago, back when writing seemed as dangerous as playing with knives, I went for a walk on the beach with Lidia and she told me about what happens when you allow space to exist between paragraphs. She talked about friction and creation and magic. 

I didn't know it then, but one reason I wasn't writing was because my head was more full of white space than words. I didn't know how to talk about being adopted because I'd never heard anyone speak openly about it. I didn't know the language. How can you write when all you hear is silence and fear?

Lidia sent this letter to me when she was visiting Greece. This was before she'd had her child, before I'd divorced and remarried and divorced again. It was a long time ago. I think it's a beautiful document and I have pinned it to many walls. I have a habit of losing things, but I've kept this piece of paper for years and years and years. 

It means something when a person writes you a letter. Words on a page are a kind of promise, time made fluid, stitched from the past to the present by the breath reading the words out loud. So much hope and love.

I remember your hands, all those rings, and the mismatched socks. 

Grateful we chased patches of blue in a red convertible.

In case you're one of the few people who hasn't seen Lidia's Ted Talk, here you go: https://www.ted.com/speakers/lidia_yuknavitch.