I’ve heard it said that it’s important to find your people — that place you belong where your talents are celebrated, and your quirks embraced. Where you can unapologetically be yourself. Where being a misnomer – finding the who. The place doesn’t matter, it’s the people there that make up the tribe.
It took me so long time 0to find my tribe. To find my purpose. To find my calling.
I am a writer. My brother and sister writers are my people. For once, I feel like I don’t have to explain myself. I can just be.
A year ago, I had the privilege of being published in Hippocampus Magazine’s Writing Life Column. The following is the editor’s note about my essay:
Editor’s Note: Connie Kinsey’s essay is ekphrastic. It’s a vivid description of a work of art, its meaning expanded through her imagining. The art is the painting La Panthère Noire des Buttes-Chaumont, (The Black Panther of Buttes-Chaumont) by artist Kinga Katanics. Parc des Buttes-Chaumont is a Paris park.
Keep your eyes on the prize, they say. My problem is I’m not sure what the prize is. Other times I know exactly what it is. Contentment, Happiness, Peace. But perhaps if I achieved the prize, my life would stagnate. Is the quest part of the achievement? I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Some days I’m damn near exuberant. Other days, not so much. Long Covid, I’m blaming. I worry about what mutant thing that dam virus has done to my DNA or is doing to it.
But let’s not go there. I’ve had several nights of good sleep. Restorative sleep. Deep sleep. I’m so well-rested I’m practically giddy. What a difference sleep makes. The world, though rainy and gloomy, is bright and shiny. I can cope with my to-do list. I may even conquer it. The brain fog is still there, dammit long covid, but it too is not quite so bad. In this merry month of May, I am hopeful and maybe that’s my real quest.
To be hopeful in this world at this time is perhaps delusional. Things are dire and we’re going to hell in a hand basket while people shout stupid slogans or, just as bad, go on as if nothing is happening.
But today I have hope that somehow, someway it’s all going to work out. I think that’s the prize.
W. Va. Fur and Root 