To be

As I sit listening to music writing this blog, I keep on thinking, what is the point? We are all just running this rat race, jumping through hoops, and right now, I just want to be. 

Now I know I am privileged to even have time to wonder about life's questions. Growing up, my parents were always in survival mode, too busy to worry about the purpose of it all, and I know that I am comfortable, relatively speaking, and may have too much time to think. 

When I was younger, and putting myself through school, I don't recall worrying so much about what the point of life was. I don't remember whether I even thought about it. 

This last Thursday, I did an Ontario library reading event. It was a dream come true. I grew up in that library. The librarians were so kind. They bought coffee and cupcakes. They put my memoir in the catalog which was so special. 

I had a decent showing for a weekday event and even made a few new writer friends which was nice, but while reading, my rhythm was off for some reason. I rushed through my reading just to make it be over. 

It could have been the fact that I was sweating through my dress. Sweat pooling in my chest and under my arms.  Or maybe it was hearing what sounded like a grunt from my mom in the second row at my story. Or maybe I was just anxious and tired. Truth is, I'm more of a morning lark and it was an evening event. 

Regardless, it wasn't my best reading. But hey, I tried. I showed up. And maybe that's the point of it all. Just showing up and trying your best. Just trying. 

And trying again. And again.