Five Star's 284th Great Blog Roundup Is Brought to You By Lee Child
This week's Five Star roundup is brought to you by alcoholism and motherhood, living without a particular passion to guide you, being true to yourself, Passover, grandfathers, hashtags and movements, a problematic granny, godfathers, a theatre critic's contribution to rape culture, finding oneself, and Lee Child:
Writing is showbusiness for shy people.
— Lee Child —
…one thing that has defined my existence as a mother, has acted as a lifeline and a source of income and opportunities, has connected me with women and mothers across the globe and has acted as a lifeline during some of the darkest points of my life -- including the time surrounding her death -- is something my mother never had: The Internet.
The word "passion", at least in my head, goes hand in hand with the word "talent". Rumi, the Sufi mystic poet from 13th Century Persia, was a strong proponent of making the most of your talents, because in his eyes, they're what you were put on Earth to do. "If you don’t do it, it's as though a knife of the finest tempering were nailed into a wall to hang things on."
But what if, like Max, you have no fine knife? Or just don’t care to sharpen it?
The discomfort of difference is nothing compared to the discomfort of trying to look like someone you’re not.
I feel sorry for people who haven’t been to a Seder. I had a big one once just to invite some friends who had never attended a Passover dinner — I think it is time for me to do so again. I feel like there’s something in this one holiday that distills everything about being Jewish into an evening of eating chicken soup and drinking wine and telling stories.
Her father, my step-grandfather, had a chair that he sat in, quietly watching the comings and goings of his wife, his children and grandchildren, the neighbors, the kids they took care of during the day, and more John Wayne movies than a body has a right to. I met him after he retired, and occasionally he'd look up at the thermostat, and then over at me, and say, "Hell, it's happy hour somewhere."
Recently, Twitter seemed to want to remind us who really owns hashtags. Spoiler: it ain’t us.
Granny didn't like me, right from the beginning. And I didn't like her, either. Apparently she held me for a second after I was born and passed me back with disinterest to my mom, saying, "She's going to be mama's girl." And that was probably our second-best interaction from my childhood.
If you grew up in a small town in the 1970s and 80s, and you related to the supporting characters in a John Hughes movie way more than you ever could to the actual, breathing individuals around you in your real life, then pull up a chair. Because this is our story.
When we talk about a "culture of rape" in this country, we are referring to a culture in which, "She was asking for it" is a common, acceptable defense for criminal behavior… "Rape culture" is a culture in which an educated, prolific theater critic would assume that anyone would ever think "she was asking for it".
I sat. I watched. I stood at the edge of the world where the packed, wet sand meets eternity, with my feet sinking lower and lower with every pull of water and wondered who I was, where I went, and how I could find me.
Please come back and share good writing with us over the coming week to be featured on the next Five Star. Submit it by Tuesday at midnight CST to nominate it for inclusion in the next roundup.
And because you are a fan of finding good, new writing on the internet: