I love writing. I do. But sometimes I lose my way in the fog and can't find my words. This is the best reminder I have found for a while. If you sometimes feel lost in the fog, please, please don't give up doing whatever it is you are doing. Somebody somewhere needs it. Somebody somewhere needs to hear it. You may never know who, but I can guarantee that your efforts will find the person or people who need to hear them. As Dory says, "Just keep swimming." Your work will find its place in the world.
One of the most inspiring images I know is that of an old-time typewriter. I could never type on those things because my fingers weren't strong and coordinated enough to press the keys. By the time I took typing in tenth grade, the school had electric typewriters for us to use. I had the opposite problem with the electric ones. The keys were so easy to push that any little random movement my fingers made would strike a key. Finally computers came along, and like Goldilocks, I found that writing on a computer keyboard was just right. For the first time, I was able to put words together and tell the world who I was, what I believed, and figure out how I was supposed to fit into the world around me. It's a neverending story. And it all began with a keyboard that I couldn't even use.
The Wiyot lived in the Humboldt Bay area of Northern California and they live in my dreams. For about a year-and-half we made our home in Humboldt County, an area about 200 miles north of San Francisco on the far North Coast. It's a place dense with redwood forests, wild rivers, and creeks that run dry in the summer and overflow in the winter. If you live in a rural area or grew up in one, you might take such things for granted. Having lived in paved-over cities all my life, they seemed magical to me. Our four acres were rich with sequoia, madrone, oak, and twenty-eight fruit trees. Blue jays flew in to feed in the morning. Quail families visited at night. They marched down our drive in orderly formation. Hawks and hummingbirds put on air shows. Rosemary thrived unattended. There wa