Unbound

In one regard, my time to sit and write is unbound. A schedule, completely of my own making. I have a husband who is thrilled that I’ve found a way to harness my creative energies. This same husband also provides a life for us that makes time to write possible. Amazingly it was the pandemic and specifically BLM that reminded me, with a blunt slap of reality, that my ability to sit in comfort and write has some strings attached. Baldly put, my whiteness and my maleness have contributed mightily to my station in life. Like the fish swimming in the bowl of water, I was reminded that the water is everywhere. The social system that keeps me afloat? I’m swimming in it. Born into certain unearned privileges, this has allowed me to glide along the upper edge. Riding the boundless surface tension of the water, while others sink. Their sinking is my responsibility and a new boundary emerging in me is to use my writing powers for good.