If there is anything in the universe stronger than sorrow, it is the capacity of friends to lift the pain of the minute; to take it on themselves, to share the heaviness of it, to make it their own.
I am stunned with gratitude, this morning. To Mary, whose comforting, reassuring emails sought me out. To Glorious K, who gave me her time and her heart, on a night that should have been a celebration of herself. To Marc Farre, whose untiring efforts to have his wonderful music heard mirror my own in the writing world. To new friends in this blogspace like Jo, whose carefully chosen words smooth the rough places in me. To Mary Doria Russell, whose soul-crushing early efforts at finding an agent were so much like my own, and whose perseverance gave the world the first gift of her writing.
This is where the hope lives. Not in the acceptance of the flawed weakness of myself, but in the knowledge of those who have made me understand that I am not alone in what I feel. I’ll go on—as much for you as for me. I will find again the joy in what I do. For you as much as for me. In being fed comes an obligation to feed the hunger in others. An obligation and a stunned sense of wonder. That the hard-edged world should have such glowing souls in it.